


bet you'd live here if you could (and be one of us)

by Boardingschooled



Series: and you're standing here beside me (i love the passage of time) [3]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: (Only In the First Chapter Though!), Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Background Relationships, Billy Hargrove & Eleven | Jane Hopper Friendship, Canon-Typical Violence, Character: Ten/Austen, Character: Twelve/Anne, Child Abuse, Cold War, Gen, M/M, Period Typical Attitudes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-30
Updated: 2019-07-25
Packaged: 2020-05-19 07:49:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 28,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19352650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Boardingschooled/pseuds/Boardingschooled
Summary: Just because Billy and Steve have their shit figured out with each other doesn't mean everything's solved. Not by a long shot.Summer 1986 in Hawkins is shaping up to be a messy one.





	1. don't let them put you down (don't let them push you around)

**Author's Note:**

> Hi dear hearts!!!
> 
> Herein begins the second installment of _and you're standing here beside me_! This first chapter's (a) relatively meaty and (b) got a lot of things to warn for, so bear with me. Thank you all _so much_ for sticking with me on this journey!
> 
> The title of this work comes from _This Town_ , by The Go-Go Dolls. It's a very good song, go listen to it!
> 
>  
> 
> **WARNINGS:**
> 
>  
> 
> WARNING FOR CHILD ABUSE: Max and Lucas get caught by Neil, who is then violent towards both of them. A more detailed description is in the end notes. 
> 
> WARNING FOR PERIOD-TYPICAL RACISM: Neil is a racist son of a bitch and says some things that have an undercurrent of racism. While I didn't use any slurs or any weaponized racial terms (as far as I'm aware!), be careful with yourself if you need to!
> 
> WARNING FOR SLUT-SHAMING: Neil uses a lot of slut-shaming language; if you want to avoid this, see the end note about child abuse!
> 
> WARNING FOR DISCUSSION OF THE FOSTER CARE SYSTEM: The IRL foster care system _sucks_ , not because the people who work in it are bad people, but because the system is broken and can't function in its intended purpose. There's some discussion of the foster care system, so if that's something that can upset you, be gentle with yourself. (Also, there's a little bit of social worker slander, which I find kind of funny given that I'm a licensed social worker BUT it's nothing too mean or untrue tbh.)
> 
> See y'all at the end of the chapter!!!

January, 1986

She only hears from Martin once in a blue moon, these days; before, back when he’d had an experiment that could actually garner some kind of _results_ , they’d talked once a week, briefed each other through encoded government phone lines and sniped back and forth about how the State Department was wasting her talents. 

These days, she keeps a shitty shoebox apartment out in Jamaica, Queens. It’s not really a safehouse, given that her superiors know exactly where it is, but it’s a quiet place, a place for her to store her few personal effects and pay for electricity and water and a telephone line only one person has the number to. When her superiors give her a few days off, she flies to JFK, overpays some cab driver to drop her off a block and a half away from the building and ignores his sighing complaints about _how dangerous Queens is now_. She usually picks up a beef patty from the restaurant a few buildings down, breaks it into steaming pieces and wolfs it down while she listens to Martin’s updates from her shitty voicemail machine. 

They have a code, now. Not that they didn’t have one before; it’s just that this one is different, less numbers and ciphers and more shitty fucking metaphors. _We have welcomed a new sheep into our flock,_ Martin’s voice had crackled over the line a year or so ago. _Her mother left the fold a while ago, but her daughter seeks the truth of the way._ He’d been teaching her since, encouraging her to _reach out to the lost souls we are missing_ , and she’s eager to hear his most recent updates. He’d said last month that they were getting close, that she had finally been able to seek the lost and keep herself safely hidden.

She feels loyal, unreasonably so, according to her superiors; he might have helped her along, they said, but she would have been a natural talent regardless of what he had made of her. She’s been arguing for more funding for his work for the last decade, especially given the successes he’d seen in recent years, but he had wasted so much of the money and resources they’d sent him by getting complacent that nobody even listens to her arguments anymore, just sighs about _government spending freezes_ and _budget crunches_ until she gets disgusted and stalks out of their offices. 

The machine is blinking red when she unlocks the door, but this time it blinks _2_ instead of the usual _1._ Martin should know better than to attract notice by calling too frequently, and she’s only been gone for three weeks this time. She’s almost annoyed enough to be put off her food, but she’s had to eat so much godforsaken _herring under fur coat_ in the last two months that not even such a lack of professionalism as Martin’s can keep her away from the hot, spiced meat filling and egg-yolk yellow dough shell of her beef patty.

 _We’re closer than ever to recovering our poor lost souls, Odette,_ Martin sighs on the first message, satisfaction oily in his voice; she doesn’t really like the religious tones of their new code, but he slides into a televangelist voice so convincingly that it’s worrying, sometimes. _We’ve found a lynchpin, an outsider with information about two of our number. He’s agreed to speak with us_ \--yeah, she thinks, he _agreed,_ sure-- _and we will soon recover our lost sheep, I am sure of it. Miriam has proven to be more than helpful in this endeavor, as she is a truly persuasive child of God._

There’s spots of grease on her fingers from the food, and she pauses the machine to wash her hands when his message ends; she’s always been a little bit neurotic about being clean, and fastidiousness is vital in work like hers. She won’t be able to think clearly about the implications of Martin’s message until she’s clean. 

She throws out the styrofoam container, scrubs up to her elbows with dish soap, applies lotion to keep her hands soft for work, all the while thinking about what Martin’s said. Are the rest of the experiments (or, at least, the rest of the live ones) in one place? Has someone else been collecting them? If so, who? Why? There hasn’t been any chatter anywhere about girls who can move things with their minds or find the lost or know things they shouldn’t. She would know, if there were. Her superiors are fully aware that she’s the expert on things like this; they don’t keep secrets like that, not since they realized she would just find out anyways.

Finally clean, she presses play again. She doesn’t want to hope for some kind of break-through, not since everything had fallen to pieces for Martin more than a year ago, but nerves are clogging her throat nonetheless, bringing her breath fast and shallow.

 _Uh, Odette,_ a new voice says stupidly, _We were given orders to contact you first if anything went wrong, so, uh, call us back._ The voice is low, underscored with pain but clearly male. Her mind spins, possibilities sparking like road flares in her mind. Maybe Martin’s unconscious, or there’s been some sort of injury that keeps him from speaking, or, most likely, he’s--well, if he _is_ dead, she tries to rationalize, it wouldn’t be the first time she’s lost someone. War is an ugly business, one she’s used to by now, at least mostly. 

She dials the only number other than the secure line to her superiors that she has memorized; it rings and rings and rings, and then finally someone picks up. It’s not Martin.

“Is this Odette?” a woman hisses, sharp and suspicious. “How many pastors does it take to screw in a lightbulb?” It appears as though even in death, Martin’s stupid religious cover will continue to haunt her.

“Three, but they’re actually all one,” Odette sighs, rolling her eyes. “Where’s Martin?”

“Six feet under, in the Cook County Cemetery,” the woman answers. It’s not surprising, really, but it still stings to hear it confirmed. 

“ _Shit,_ ” Odette swears. 

“ _Shit_ indeed,” the woman says, sounding exhausted. “The, uh, what did he say to call them, _the lost sheep_ all banded together to do it. There were two of them, plus a couple of normals. They took Twelve--Miriam-- _whoever_ with them.”

“They’re working together, against the government?” Odette’s up now, throwing her nondescript keyring back into her nondescript beige purse and flicking off the lights she’d turned on when she came in. She’ll have to remember to take the trash out when she leaves the apartment on her way to the embassy.

“If you count us as the government,” the woman agrees. 

“I’m heading to speak with my superiors now,” Odette says, voice steely. “I hope to see you in twelve hours or less. Same place?”

“As before? Yeah, but be careful, there’s pigs all over the damn place, something about gang violence or something.”

“Thanks,” Odette says drily; she hasn’t even been a blip on a police officer’s radar since she was fifteen, and even if they _do_ stop her, she’s got tricks up her sleeve. She hangs up the phone, grabs the take out container and the few things she’s been storing here. She’ll let her supervisors know to cancel the bills and scrub her name from the lease tonight. No point keeping a place for somebody who won't be calling anymore.

Finding a cab in this part of the city after dark is nigh-impossible, so she heads to the nearest LIRR stop, holds her breath between stops to avoid breathing in the miasma of sickness that wafts off New Yorkers in the dead of winter. She’s not sure how exactly she’s going to convince her superiors that she can be spared from her usual duties long enough to find and secure a group of lethal children who are, in all likelihood, still somewhere in the Midwest, but if worst comes to worst she’ll just do it anyways, ask for forgiveness when it’s all said and done.

Her handler’s going to be an _asshole_ about it, she’s sure, and she swears under her breath at the idea of his ire, realizes a little too late that she’s hissed her frustration out in Russian. The homeless guy drooping half-awake in the seat across from her stirs, looks at her with sharp eyes, and she glances around the car quickly before she whispers _go to sleep_. He nods off between one breath and the next, and she bites her lower lip to keep the rest of her thoughts firmly inside her own head.

 

March 1986

It’s not really her fault, that they get caught. It’s Wednesday afternoon, exactly halfway in the middle of spring break, and the Go-Gos are playing through her stereo and Lucas is on her bed, one hand in her hair and the other light on the curve of her waist while he kisses her. His mouth is warm and wet and she’s been waiting for some alone time with him that isn’t a peck on the cheek outside the arcade or the sweet, shallow kisses they steal in the brief moments before someone realizes they’re somewhere alone together for, like, _three weeks_. 

It’s just that she’s so _busy,_ with Billy training her and Dustin on the days he doesn’t work and AV club and all the time she still has to spend at the arcade, especially since Mike’s a do-nothing _asshole_ who’s got all the time in the world to conspire with Will to beat her high score on _Dig-Dug_. If she could spend every afternoon here, in her bed wrapped up in Lucas, she absolutely would, but that’s not how the world works for her these days. Lucas gets it, too. He’s been working with Mr. Clark on some big fancy project for the end-of-year science fair that eats up a lot of his free time, and Dustin and Mike both bitch like _crazy_ if he tries to spend too much time with Max and not with them, discussing whatever new monster Mike’s cooked up or arguing about house rule changes for D&D.

Max feels like she should know what the hell she’s doing, at least more than she does; Billy’s given her all kinds of talks about how sex can be, about how to talk to Lucas ( _or anyone else,_ she hears him say in her head) about what she likes, about where he gets condoms and how easy it would be for him to pick up some extras for her if she needs or wants them. She’s still nervous, though, still too afraid to even, like, press her body closer to Lucas’ when they’re making out. She’s been brave enough to guide his hand up to her boobs a few times, but he seems a little hesitant to touch her there without encouragement, so she’s pretty sure they’re on the same page, as far as going any farther is concerned right now. 

Lucas makes her feel _good_ though, like she’s _melting_ when they kiss; he’s only an asshole _sometimes_ , and he usually realizes it before she has to lose her mind and start yelling, unlike the rest of the stupid fucking boys in the Party. She still gets butterflies in her stomach when he puts his arm around her waist and holds her hand and stares down Troy and the other assholes who say stupid shit about the two of them. He pokes at her bruises and she feels all glowy, not just with pride but with something she’s pretty sure the women in her mom’s horrible romance novels would call _the heat of arousal._ She _really_ likes him.

Max knows Neil wouldn’t approve, obviously, but that’s why Lucas only comes over when Neil and her mom are at work, _duh_. Her mom knows, and she doesn’t really seem to mind that Lucas is black, although she gets all worried and rabbity when Max brings it up. She doesn’t like hiding things from Neil, even though she knows just as well as everybody else that when Neil doesn’t know about the things that set him off, he’s a lot less awful to be around. Max is pretty sure the only reason she hasn’t told Neil about Lucas is that she’s worried for Max, which is nice, Max guesses. It would be nicer if she, like, _left Neil,_ but she and Neil are married, now, and if they got divorced or whatever, Neil would get half the house or something, however that shit works.

They _could_ hang out at Lucas’ house, but his mom works from home and Erica’s always there, _bothering them,_ so it’s not an ideal place to get any goddamn privacy. Billy and Steve both take their jobs as babysitters seriously, so even though Max knows El isn’t really interested in doing anything sexy with Mike yet and Max wouldn’t know what to do even if she had the opportunity, Billy and Steve are constantly _there_. They make a ton of noise and flop onto the couch right up next to whoever’s all cuddled up and even though they’re _way more gross_ than any of the couples in the Party, they do their best to keep everybody all _virginal_ or whatever. 

So, really, Max’s house, when it’s empty, is the best place for them to get a second alone, especially right around now, when nobody’s gonna get home for hours. _It doesn’t matter what they say,_ Belinda Carlisle is singing, _in the jealous games people play,_ and Lucas’ fingers are slipping under her shirt, and then all of a sudden, the door to her bedroom bangs open, hits the wall _hard._

“Maxine,” Neil’s yelling, “Turn this shit--WHAT THE FUCK.” She pulls away from Lucas like she’s _on fire_ , and then they’re both standing stock-straight on opposite sides of the bed, looking up at Neil with big, stupid, _afraid_ eyes. 

“YOU SON OF A BITCH,” Neil roars, lunges at Lucas. He’s on the far side of the bed, though, so Max throws herself in Neil’s path before he can get his hands on Lucas. Neil shoves her away easily; she hits her hip on the footboard, right over a huge bruise she got last week when she’d fallen off the balance ball she’d been working on. She’s stunned by a sharp stab of pain for a split second, and Neil’s on the rampage, only has eyes for Lucas.

Lucas is backing up, but Neil’s bigger than he is, and mean as a goddamn rattlesnake, and he catches Lucas by the neck of his t-shirt, pulls him in close. “What. The. _Hell._ Are. You. Doing. With. Her.” Neil yells, so close to Lucas’ face that his spit lands in Lucas’ eye. 

“N-nothing,” Lucas stammers, and Neil bellows out something that could probably be called a laugh, hauls off and punches Lucas in the face.

Max _screams,_ screeches wordlessly like _that’s_ going to make any fucking difference.

“Get off him, stop, _get off him,_ ” she finds herself yelling, pulling at Neil’s shoulder. “His parents are gonna _sue you,_ you’re gonna get arrested, _what the fuck!_ ” He shakes her hand off, but clearly he’s at least half-listening, because he stiffens at the word _arrested,_ lets go of Lucas and stands up.

“Get the fuck out of here, you good-for-nothing son of a bitch,” he snarls at Lucas, and Lucas looks over at her for a split second, eyes full of pain and worry.

“Go,” she says, sounding _way_ braver than she feels, honestly. “I’ll be okay.” She won’t, she’s pretty sure; she remembers vividly the last time Neil had hit Billy, how he hasn’t stopped until Billy was so still she had thought for a second he was dead. Neil hasn’t ever hit her before, hasn’t even _yelled_ that much, but she can tell this won’t be fun.

“Fuck you,” Lucas spits at Neil as he half-runs out of the room, backpack slung over his shoulder. Neil stands dead still until they hear the front door slam, staring at the place where Lucas was. He rounds on her suddenly, faster than she remembers him being, catches her chin in his hand with mean, tight fingers.

“Just because your _mother_ is a no-good whore doesn’t mean _you_ have to be too, you little _slut,_ ” he sneers at her, eyes bright with rage. “I don’t usually _hit girls_ , but I don’t know if you really _count_ as a girl anymore, acting like _that_ under my roof. I thought I taught you better than that, but _clearly_ that fairy brother’a yours is corrupting you. Guess it’s time you learn something about respect and responsibility the hard way.”

Max doesn’t back down, doesn’t try to squirm out of his grip or wince or cry so he lets her go; he doesn’t get to see how he’s hurting her. She’s on her tiptoes, trying to keep her balance where he’s got her chin jerked up too far for her to comfortably stand. She knows she should probably keep her mouth shut, should let him yell and rage and leave little fingerprint bruises and ground her for the summer or whatever and be _done with it_ , but even if she were capable of a thing like that when she’s this lit up with pain and anger, she wouldn’t. Neil’s been a bully the entire time he’s been in her life, and she _doesn’t fucking like_ bullies. 

“Funny, that _you_ should talk about respect and responsibility,” she says, letting her eyes flash at him. Her voice sounds all funny, squished and half-muffed by her cheeks. “I’ve never seen you _respect_ a damn soul, and if your responsibility is to, I dunno, _be a good father to your kids,_ you’re showing me right now just how much of a _failure_ you are at that.” His free hand lashes out, smacks her so hard the pain doesn’t even _register_ for a few seconds. He’s wearing his ugly fucking class ring, and the sting of where it must’ve broken skin comes to her first, followed by the blood rushing to her cheek.

“ _Enough_ goddamn backtalk,” Neil says. “You _shut your whore mouth_ and listen to me and I won’t have to hit you again, _got it?_ ” He lets go of her chin, pats her almost-gently on the cheek, smiles at her like he’s doing her a _favor._

“I won’t, thank you,” she says, balling her hands into fists so he won’t see how badly she’s shaking. “I have a lot to say, you _dick_ , about how shitty you treat my mom and how _fucked up_ you were to your own goddamn _son_ and how small your dick must be if _this_ is how you’ve gotta show that you’re a _real man._ ” This time, she’s able to track his fist coming for her face like she tracks the puck in practice, ready enough to turn so all he gets is a glancing blow to her jaw. 

He bellows wordlessly, too mad to come up with some other stupid shit to say, and she darts out of the room, heads for the bathroom. If she can get the door closed and locked, she can wait it out, maybe kick the screen out of the window and jump out into the backyard. 

She almost fucking makes it. Her hair’s down loose, though, and Neil grabs a handful of it just as she reaches the bathroom door, yanks so hard she’s pretty sure she’s gonna have a bald spot. She falls to her knees, tries to use her nails to scratch him hard enough that he’ll let go, but she keeps them short; even if she liked to have them long, which she doesn’t, hockey gloves make it impossible.

“Keep struggling,” Neil laughs like he’s some stupid James Bond villain or something, her hair still fisted in his hand. “If you disobey me, you have _consequences_ , you little fucking _slut_ , and the sooner you learn to keep your mouth shut, the easier this is gonna be.” 

“And what _consequences_ are those gonna be, you _stupid fuck?_ You _know_ I bruise easy, and, unlike Mom, I _don’t give a shit_ if you rot in jail for the rest of your miserable, wasted life.” Something molten burns through her veins, melts the icy terror that had been there, and she’s not even really _scared_ anymore. She’s got too many people who give a shit; if she knows Lucas, he’s already on the walkie-talkie, telling whoever to call Hopper. 

Neil gets right back up in her face, starts spitting the same racist bullshit Troy used to say to her and Lucas until the day Billy overheard and scared him so bad he literally _pissed his pants_ ; she rolls her eyes, doesn’t flinch away from his stinging backhand slaps, thinks with as much humor as she can muster _he can't even be_ creative _about his jackassery._ She remembers, out of the blue, these creepy-cool paintings she’d seen in Cali, this one time when Billy had dragged her into a teeny little Catholic church to light a candle for his mom. The paintings were of saints, _martyrs,_ Billy had said all huffy when she’d asked, and all of them were getting tortured, like, dipped in boiling oil or set on fire or run through with hot pokers or whatever, but they all had these peaceful looks on their faces, like they didn’t even mind. She hadn’t understood, then, what they must’ve felt like, but now she thinks she might.

 

Steve insists on carrying around the walkie-talkie the kids gave him, like, _all the time_. Mostly, it doesn’t bother Billy; sometimes, it’s almost nice, to hear the chatter of all the kids arguing about some stupid shit or planning to meet up or whatever. Billy’s gotten distracted from sucking Steve’s soul out through his dick by Dustin yelling about _Star Wars_ one too many times to like having it on when they’re trying to fuck around, but the one time he’d brought it up, Steve’d started hyperventilating, freaking out about one of the kids needing help and them not knowing.

It’s spring break and he and Steve are wrapped up in each other on Steve’s bed, making out like their lives depend on it. Steve’s bulking up a little with all the training he’s doing to prepare for the police academy tryouts, and it’s been driving Billy _crazy_ , the way Steve’s ugly fucking polo shirts cling tight around his biceps now, the way the denim of his jeans strains to hold his thighs. Billy’s working on peeling Steve’s pants off when Lucas’ voice, frenzied, blares over the walkie-talkie.

“CALL HOPPER,” he yells, static crackling through the line. “Max’s dad caught us, he hit me but he made me leave and now Max is _alone with him!_ ” 

Billy’s standing up before he even realizes he’s moving. His vision goes spotty for a second while the blood rushes back into his head, but he ignores it and reaches for the first shirt he sees on Steve’s carpet. Steve’s up a half-second later, grabbing for a shirt, too.

“You start the car, I’ll call Hopper,” Steve says, voice clear and calculating, and Billy nods, reaches for the walkie-talkie as Steve runs down the stairs to the phone.

“We’re on our way,” Billy says, all curt, and then realizes just how _terrified_ Lucas sounds and forces himself to say something reassuring. “Just get off your bike and stay put once you get to somewhere safeish. You okay?”

He barely hears Lucas reassuring him and the subsequent explosion of voices over the receiver before he’s barreling down the stairs with the walkie talkie clutched in one hand, snatching his keys off the hook, shoving his feet into a pair of Steve’s slippers so he doesn’t have to fuck around with his boots and lose time. Steve is saying something over the phone while he wrestles his sneakers on, _get there now!_ but Billy can barely hear it; the blood’s thumping in his ears so hard he’s afraid he’s gonna, like, _pop a vein_ or something. 

Steve’s a half-step behind him out to the car, and Billy doesn’t wait for Steve to shut his door all the way before he’s roaring out of the driveway and towards Max. Steve shuts the radio off, pulls the walkie talkie out of Billy’s hand and turns down the volume just a little.

“Hopper’s gonna beat us there,” Steve says, voice quiet but furious. “He already said you can’t kill Neil, but he didn’t say jack shit about _me_ beating him senseless.” Somewhere in the back recesses of his mind, the parts of his brain that are capable of critical thought, Billy’s distantly pleased that Steve doesn’t sound like he would have _any issues_ with killing Neil, but he’s too focused on getting to Max to really deal with the surge of love in any meaningful way, right now.

“Where are you, Lucas?” Steve asks over the walkie talkie, and then, when Mike and Dustin and El all start talking, “Everybody who’s not Lucas or me, _shut the fuck up_ until we know Max is safe, I’ll make sure to let you know, thank you.” He’s not unkind, just terse, clearly just as stressed and mad and _worried_ as Billy is.

Lucas didn’t get far before he stopped, apparently, which is probably for the best if Hopper’s gonna take Neil into custody; he’s only three blocks away from the house, and out of the corner of his eye, Billy sees Lucas waving like a lunatic as he turns the Camaro onto Max’s street. Neil’s truck is in the driveway, and Hopper’s is behind it, lights and siren flashing and driver’s side door still half-open.

Billy leaves his car running, barely remembers to put it in park before he’s throwing himself towards the open front door. Max runs out, hair streaming behind her and face all busted up so he hardly even recognizes her for a second. She smashes into him at full speed, and that same distant critical-thought part of his mind makes a note to tell Max that she’s getting _strong_ when they’re not, y’know, _handling a crisis_. 

Knowing she’s safe drains some of the adrenaline from his veins, and as he comes back into the world around him, he hears her sobbing, feels her heaving for breath where she’s plastered to his chest. Steve runs into the house, holding the extra nail bat he usually leaves by the front door of his house. He wraps his arms around her, gentle in case Neil’s been enough of a prick to go after her ribs, and she lets out a _wail_ so loud he’s pretty sure he might be deaf in his right ear.

“Hey, hey, kid, I got you,” he murmurs, rubbing her back with one hand. “I got you, you’re safe, he’s never gonna fucking touch you again.” She sags against him, all dead weight now that she feels a little safer, and he sits down right there on the gravel of the driveway, careful; she’s in his lap, bawling like a little kid, and he’s so full of fury he’s pretty sure he’s _glowing,_ lit up like a Christmas tree. He remembers that feeling, though, that _terror_ and that desperate _wanting_ for a safe place, so he forces himself to relax, loosen his arms where they’ve tightened around her in reflex. 

Lucas comes biking up, panting like he’s just run a race, and Max looks at him, bursts into fresh wails. She’s shaking like a leaf, and she lets go of Billy’s shirt where she had it clenched in her fist to reach out to Lucas. He throws his bike down in the yard, is wrapped around her back with his walkie-talkie in one hand before she can try to say anything. 

“Max is safe,” he says into the walkie talkie, and then he throws it on the ground, starts murmuring something soothing in Max’s ear. He’s looking up at Billy, though, eyes wild and bright with what Billy’s pretty sure are tears.

Billy adjusts his grip so he’s got a hand on both of them. He wouldn’t have been caught _dead_ trying to soothe his little sister’s boyfriend any other day; he usually leaves the boys to Steve, with the exception of Will, who usually comes to Billy if he needs something Jonathan can’t help with. Today is special, though, in that horrible way that tragedies are sometimes, where the lines between people blur and the only reason for _existing_ is to help.

Hop drags Neil out, already cuffed. It looks like Neil’s got a couple bruises Billy would bet good money that Max didn’t cause, and Steve follows after them, eyes locked on Billy and the kids. He nods when he sees Billy looking back at him, looking satisfied, like now that everybody’s safe and somebody’s taken Neil down a few pegs, everything is gonna be okay, eventually at least. 

Hopper shoves Neil into the back of the truck, slams the door shut on Neil's loud, cursing protests. He shuts the driver’s side door, too, on his way to Billy and Max and Lucas, all knotted up together. Steve’s already next to Billy, one hand on Max’s shoulder, the other around Billy’s waist. 

“Max, you okay? No lasting damage?” Hop asks, his voice so tight with stress that it sounds more like a demand.

“Huh-uh,” Max half-sobs, words muffled by Billy’s shirt. “Jus’ superficial.” She’s so fucking tough, already trying to pull away, to act like she’s okay. Billy holds her tight, though, and so does Lucas. 

“Good. I’m taking him to the station, but I’m gonna need to get a statement from the two of you,” Hop gestures to Lucas and Max, “and the sooner we get photos of the, uh, of _what happened,_ the better.” Billy can tell Hopper’s warring with his cop instincts to be all clinical and shit, trying to balance professionalism with the care Billy knows he feels for all the kids. Just then, another cop car comes swooping in, one of the stupid fucking deputies, too late to really help. Hop waves him off before he can get into the car, like _it’s fine, gimme a sec._

“ _Really_ , you’re supposed to ride in a squad car,” Hop says, and Max makes a wounded noise, clings to Billy and Lucas tight. “But if you all get in Billy’s car and follow me straight there, you can do that instead.” Billy nods, starts trying to disentangle himself from Max. She clings harder, though, letting go of Lucas to keep Billy where he is. 

“Max, kid, we gotta get in the car,” Billy says, trying to pry her arms loose. She shakes her head _no,_ spreading tears and snot and probably blood all over what Billy’s just realized is Steve’s t-shirt. “Can she sit in the front with me?” Hop shrugs like _sure,_ gives Steve a meaningful look that Billy doesn’t even _try_ to interpret and heads over to explain what in the fresh _hell_ is going on to the deputy. 

Steve ushers Lucas into the backseat, buckles himself into the driver’s side while Billy tries to figure out how to get himself and Max into the front seat without letting go of her. Finally, he just leans down and scoots in, hopes for the best. Max shoves in next to him, still hiding her face in his chest, but her breathing’s slowing down a little, now, and she’s moved past sobs into little sniffles. Steve pulls out of the driveway, and Hop backs out too, heads toward the main road.

“What happened, is everybody okay?” Dustin keeps asking, voice loud over the two walkie-talkies in the car.

“Hop arrested Neil,” Lucas explains, quiet, “and we’re going to the station now, to give a statement or whatever. We’re all okay.”

Dustin and Mike and Will and El all take the chance to say how glad they are that everybody’s okay, how scared they were, and Mike’s hatching a plan to have Jonathan pick everybody up and bring them to the police station when Steve sighs, reaches over to grab his walkie talkie from the floorboard at a red light.

“ _No,_ guys, you can’t come to the police station. Everything’s okay, but we all probably need space right now. I’ll make sure you guys get to see Max and Lucas when they’re ready, I promise.” 

Will doesn’t argue, but Mike and El both get all huffy and Dustin’s complaining just for the sake of complaining, probably. Lucas turns down the volume on his receiver, and after warning the rest of the kids _not to get in any danger for a little while,_ please, _jesus h goddamn christ,_ Steve turns his volume off, too.

Steve doesn’t turn off the car right away when they pull in to the station; he waits until Hopper’s wrestled Neil out of the back of the car and taken him inside, gesturing to the deputy to follow him. Only when Hop sticks his head out and waves them in does Steve pull the key out of the ignition. Max seems a little more with it when they get out of the car; she’s still got an arm around Billy’s waist, but she’s walking without any support from Billy, shoving her hair out of her face where sweat and tears and snot have matted it together.

It’s the first time Billy’s actually gotten a good look at her face; she looks _bad,_ both sides of her face swollen and bright red with handprints, a few cuts that Billy can see the imprint of Neil’s stupid goddamn ring in and around. She’s smeared liberally with blood, from what Billy’s pretty sure was a bloody nose at one point, but there really isn’t anything that looks permanent. 

Billy’s blood is boiling again, though, with fury and _shame._ He had _left her in that house_ , knowing _full well_ that Neil would snap eventually, and it makes him _sick,_ makes his stomach turn so hard he could vomit, if he didn’t have to stand strong for Max right now. He’s biting his lip so hard he’s surprised he hasn’t broken the skin. Hopper leads them all into his office, and Steve drags in two extra chairs for him and Lucas, shoves them all around so everybody can sit right next to each other. 

Hopper asks a full account of the story, and Lucas and Max don’t mince words in the retelling. Billy’s shoulders are so tense he’s pretty sure he’s gonna have knots for a _year,_ listening to the kids talk about what happened, all the shitty things Neil said and did that Billy _didn’t protect them from._ Steve, always a little aware of what Billy's thinking and feeling these days, reaches over behind Lucas and Max’s heads and puts his hand on the back of Billy’s neck, and Billy finds himself relaxing, just a little. 

Hopper takes photos of Max’s face after he gets their statements, pulling out a little L-shaped forensic ruler for her to hold up to each of the marks, and photos of the bruising coming up on Lucas’ jaw, too. Billy vaguely remembers Hop doing the same thing after Joyce had patched him up, saying something about how having photos would be important if he ever tried anything else even if Billy didn’t want to have him arrested at the time.

“Steve, kid, can you help Max and Lucas get cleaned up? Florence knows where the first aid kit is, Billy and I have to talk for a minute,” Hopper says, gentle but firm. Max and Lucas are quiet now, reckoning with the reality of the situation, and Steve herds them out without much fuss, shuts the door behind him with a gentle, worried glance in Billy’s direction and the soft _click_ of the latch.

“I fucked up,” Billy says, miserable. “I should’ve reported him when I moved out, I know.” Hop stands up from his desk, comes to sit next to Billy, puts a hand on Billy’s shoulder.

“That’s not what I was gonna say, kid, but if you wanna have that talk, we can, _later_. I don’t think Max is gonna let you be away from her for too long right now, so we’ve gotta make this relatively quick.” Billy’s confused; he’d been bracing for emotional impact, for Hopper to look at him all disappointed and sigh about how Max getting hit is _all his fault._ Hopper sitting next to him and being nice, _reassuring_ even, is harder for Billy to deal with, really, and he’s tearing up before he can stop himself.

“So, kid," Hopper goes on, pretending like he doesn't notice Billy about to blubber on like a little girl, "it’s probably pretty unlikely that CPS is gonna let Max stay with her mom, at least for the time being; Susan’s probably gonna bail Neil out, and it isn’t safe for Max to be in the house, obviously. Plus, they just added this new thing for CPS where being around domestic violence in the home is a reason to take a kid out of the house, and I would bet money Neil’s been violent with Susan around Max.”

“So she’s gonna get _taken,_ put in some shitty fucking foster home?” Billy’s _furious,_ not at Hopper but at himself, at the situation, at goddamn son-of-a-bitch _Neil._ He hadn’t tried to get Neil arrested before because he knows what foster care’s like, knows exactly how goddamn terrible it can be; he thought keeping Neil out of jail to be the breadwinner would keep Max away from foster care, and he was fucking _wrong_. “I’m not letting some stupid fucking _social worker_ take her to some _group home_ where she gets treated like shit, _no goddamn way_. She’s settled here.”

“Kid, listen, CPS is on their way to interview Max, and they’ll be here soon, but the social worker’s a good one. I know her, and I can offer to take Max in for a few days, until she can find a placement with a local family, so Max can stay in school and be close to everybody.” Hopper’s not doing that stupid fucking fake soothing thing Billy hates, thank God; he’s talking calm and easy, like he’s got some kind of plan that doesn’t fucking _suck,_ so Billy listens, fists balled up tight in his lap.

“I’d already been thinking about this, what with the other girls coming down from Chicago for the summer, but I do still have my other house. It’s kind of a wreck, since nobody’s been living there, but if you can get it all fixed up and be the adult in the house while the girls are here, pay me rent so you can establish that you’ve got the means to take care of Max and stuff, I’m pretty sure Loretta will authorize you to be her guardian until this whole thing gets worked out. You turn eighteen next month, and you’ve already got a job and shit, friends and family who’ll help take care of Max.”

“You really think some underpaid, overworked social worker in _rural-ass Indiana_ is gonna let me take guardianship of Max when I’m still in school? No goddamn way,” Billy says, harder than he probably should be. He _can’t_ let himself hope, though. “Plus, where the hell is she gonna be while I get all that figured out? I know how long it takes to get a social worker back out once you get placed.”

“That’s the one part I’m not sure about, kid,” Hop says, gentle. “Wherever she ends up, though, I’ll be there as much as I need to be, making sure they’re treating her good and that she’s safe.”

“Fuck,” Billy says, half-sobs, if he’s honest. “This _sucks._ ”

Loretta the social worker talks to Max alone for a lot longer than Billy’s really comfortable with, even though it’s probably only half an hour or so; Steve sits with him in the hard, uncomfortable chairs in the waiting room, running his fingers soothingly along Billy’s forearm. 

Loretta shakes everybody’s hand and uses that stupid fucking bullshit fake gentle voice that drives Billy fucking insane when she calls Susan to let her know to come in. Billy’s entirely too aware that Hopper could’ve called her as soon as they got to the station, and he's fiercely grateful that Hop didn’t, that Max didn’t have to see her mom defend Neil like he knows she’s going to.

Billy wants to pace, to punch walls or start a fight or find out where Hopper’s put Neil and go kill him outright, but he knows Loretta’s testing him, seeing if he’s stable. The look on her face when she calls Hopper in to talk proves it, a quietly surprised glance when she sees he’s still sitting patiently, waiting for his turn to make his case with her. Instead, he explains everything to Steve while they're waiting, the half-baked plan Hopper’s got to try to keep Max where Billy will know she’s safe. 

“I called Jonathan,” Steve says while Hopper and Max are holed up with Loretta. Lucas’ mom has already been by to pick him up, tutting over the marks on Lucas and giving Billy a gently fierce pep talk about how everything is going to work out, and if it doesn’t, she’ll _personally_ go kick somebody’s ass. “He’s going by the house to pick up Max’s stuff. He’s bringing Will to make sure they get everything important. Is there anything you can think of that they wouldn’t find in her room?” 

“Uh, there are some photo albums in the basement,” Billy says after he thinks for a long second. “Susan’ll probably be mad, most of them are of her and Max when Max was younger, but there are some of my mom, too, and I don’t really give one single _shit_ what Susan wants right now.” Steve nods, goes to use Florence’s phone. He talks quietly to Jonathan for a second, hangs up with a thanks and a goodbye. He’s walking back over to Billy, this sweet, sorrowful look on his face that Billy wants to kiss away, when Joyce comes racing in the front door.

“Hi, Florence,” she says, panting a little. She turns to look at Billy and Steve “Is, phew, _shit_ I’m outta shape, is the social worker still here? Is Max?”

“Uh, yeah,” Billy says, gesturing to Hopper’s closed office door. He’s too surprised to see her here to question her, so he explains, unnecessarily, “they’re in there, talking.”

“Okay, great,” she sighs, grim, determined smile pasted on her face. “Sorry I took so long, Jonathan called me right after he heard from you, Steve, but I couldn’t get away from work until five minutes ago. Everything’s gonna be okay, Billy, I promise, I’ve been planning for something like this.” She brushes past Florence and the rest of the desks and stuff, opens Hopper’s door without so much as an _excuse me._

“Hi, ma’am,” Billy hears her say before she shuts the door, and Billy’s so fucking confused. 

“Do you know what the hell that was about?” he asks Steve, quiet.

“Uh, no idea,” Steve says, confusion writ just as large across his face as it must be on Billy’s. “She’s a little bit crazy, but she’s got this way of making things happen.” 

She’s in there for so long that Billy starts drinking eight million little conical paper cups of water from the little dispenser in the waiting area just for something to do; Steve keeps trying to bite his nails, and Billy keeps slapping his hand away, for his own sanity. Steve forgets, when they’re fucking around, that his nails are sharp and jagged from biting, and then Billy gets these gross, painful scores down his back and he’s grumpy about it for _a week_ until they heal and then Steve gets his _feelings_ hurt about how Billy won't take off his shirt. 

“How’s the studying going, for the police academy?” Florence asks, clearly trying to distract the two of them from whatever’s happening in the other room.

“Oh, good,” Steve says, and goes off on a nervous ramble about training and studying and all the stupid, arcane laws there are in Indiana, all of which Billy’s heard a thousand times before. It’s soothing, though, listening to Steve explain his training plan and how much faster his mile time has gotten and this and that, and after about fifteen minutes, Loretta opens the door, waves Billy into the office.

“Hi, ma’am,” he says, shaking her hand again like an idiot. She gestures for him to sit in the only open chair in the room, right next to Max, thank _God._ As soon as he sits down, Max is grabbing for his hand, squeezing so hard he feels his metatarsals grind together. 

“So, Billy,” she starts, and her voice isn’t the pitying thing it was before; she sounds like she’s got a problem solved, and it makes him hopeful and nervous in equal parts. “You’re one lucky kid, you know that?”

“Yeah,” he says, “I’ve got good people around me.” She nods, and he can almost see her ticking a box in her head, _potential guardian is appropriately aware of support system_ or something. 

“I’m glad you know that, dear. So, we’ve created a plan of care for Maxine--sorry, _Max_ \--and I’d like to run it by you, if that’s okay. Jim, Joyce, Max, would it be okay if I talk to Billy alone for a minute?” Max looks at him, wide-eyed and just as scared as she had been earlier, clearly looking for reassurance. 

“It’s gonna be okay, Mad Max, like I promised, alright?” he says, tousling her hair. She sighs, wrings her hands, but nods, stands up and follows Hop and Joyce out of the room.

“You’re younger than I’d like, to be her guardian,” Loretta says, all business, “And I know you had some trouble, when you moved to town, with speeding tickets and drinking and some other things.” Her brusque tone, the way she’s clear and concise--they hurt, but it’s a clean hurt, the kind that makes hearing bad news more bearable.

“I know,” he sighs, mouth twisting while he tries to think of some reason she would want to let Max stay with him. “But Max is my sister, now, and I don’t want her to have to--”

“I wasn’t finished,” Loretta chides, but her tone gentles, just a little, makes her sound more human. “You _are_ a little young, and you _have_ had some problems, but I would be worried for Max’s safety if she were to be put back with her mother, given what Maxine told me about not just Neil, but some of the other men her mother’s dated.

“We have a policy, in my line of work, called reunification. We’re supposed to keep kids with their families as much as we can, once we’ve given their families the help they need, but it’s my professional opinion that the best place for Max is with you. 

“Legally, I can’t place her in your guardianship until I have proof that you would be able to provide the care she needs. That means a safe place to live, enough money to pay the bills and buy food, and emotional care, too. The state will pay for her to go to therapy, and it’ll be a mandated part of her care no matter where she ends up.

“For the time being, she’ll be staying with Joyce Byers, which will apparently be perfect, given that her younger son is friends with Max; I was actually the one who approved her as a foster parent, and I have no doubts that she’ll provide appropriate care until something changes with Max’s care plan. She’ll also probably have scheduled, supervised visits with her mom, which Jim has agreed to supervise.

“If you’re willing and you feel ready--and _only_ if you feel ready and willing, I want to make that _explicitly clear,_ you are _not_ the sole person responsible for her wellbeing, Mr. Hargrove--I can give you a list of things to do, and once those things are done, I’ll come in and evaluate where you’re at and how she’s doing and assess whether you would be an appropriate guardian for her.” Loretta, clearly ready to hear from him, sits back in Hop’s chair, waits for his response.

He’s so overwhelmed at the idea, Max being somewhere he knows is _safe_ until he can take care of her for good, that he tears up again, has to rub hard at his eyes for his vision to clear.

“I want Max around,” he mutters, once the lump in his throat goes down enough for him to speak clearly. “We’ve been through a lot together, and I love her a lot. If, uh, if you can give us a chance, I want to try.”

“It’ll be hard, Mr. Hargrove,” Loretta warns. “You’d have to take care of her _and_ stay in school, plus hold down another job for the summer, but Jim told me enough about what you’ve been through that I’ve got faith in you. You’re a capable young man, apparently. I’m officially placing Max with Joyce, and I’ll be back to check in once a month. You have until the end of August to fulfill the appropriate requirements; after that point, I’m required to look at other options for long-term, stable care.”

“I know what hard looks like,” Billy says, his chin firm. “If it means I get to have Max around, to know that she’s safe, that she’s not constantly looking over her shoulder, waiting for the other shoe to drop, I’m willing to do just about anything.”

“Good.” she nods, and gestures for him to open the door. Hopper and Joyce and Max all file back in, and Max grabs his hand in her sweaty little one, squeezes tight and glares at Loretta like _try to separate us, I dare you._

“ _Hey,_ kid,” Billy sighs, elbowing her. “You gotta be nice to her, if you wanna stay with me eventually.” 

“You said you’d do it?” Max asks, voice small but so full of hope Billy can’t help but smile.

“Yeah, Max, I mean, if I didn’t have you, who _else_ would I boss around?” She lets go of his hand to shove at his shoulder, and all the adults in the room smile at them. 

“Alright, Joyce,” Loretta says, gathering all the paperwork she has scattered over Hopper’s desk. “I’m gonna need you to sign a few things, and then you can take Max home--oh, here, Mr. Hargrove, this one’s for you, it’s got all the things you’ll need to have proof of before we can get guardianship transferred.” She passes papers to Joyce and Billy, hands Joyce a pen when she starts trying to find one in the clutter Hopper keeps on the periphery of his desk.

“Loretta?” Hop interjects. “Uh, Mrs. Hargrove, Susan that is, is waiting to speak to you. Do you want me to go get her?”

“Yes, please,” she says, and, “I have a feeling this one might get a little _nasty_ , so if you wouldn’t mind sticking around while I explain the situation, that would be great.” She rolls her neck, clearly steeling herself for her conversation with Susan, and Billy feels a sudden pang of sympathy for her. It must be shitty, explaining to people that you’re taking their kids away. He kind of hopes it’ll be a wakeup call for Susan, but he knows Neil, knows the kind of nervous, passive woman Susan turns into around him, and he’s not too sure that anything will change for her.

Joyce finishes signing everything, stands and holds her hand out to Max.

“C’mon, kiddo, Jonathan and Will already went to pick up your stuff. We’ll pick up a frozen pizza on the way home, maybe some ice cream if you want,” she offers, and Max nods, takes her hand. She looks back at Billy, though, before they can leave the room.

“Billy, will you--can you come over, later? Bring Steve, too.” Max sounds almost ashamed, which makes Billy so unbearably _sad_ that he clenches his fists tight enough that his nails cut into his palms a little, to keep her from seeing it on his face. 

“Yeah, kiddo, I’m gonna get some stuff taken care of and I’ll be over. Joyce, you want us to bring a salad or something?” He wants to be _useful,_ wants to show Joyce just how grateful he is that she’s apparently prescient and cares enough to make sure that she can take care of some kid that isn’t even _hers_. 

“That’d be great,” Joyce smiles, leading Max toward the door. “We’ll eat around six, if you can make it by then.”

“Sounds good,” Billy says.

“I’ll walk you to your car,” Hopper offers, and it’s hard to watch the door close with Max on the other side, but it’s not forever, and as long as he remembers that, he’ll be okay.

“Can I give you some advice, from somebody who’s seen things like this a lot?” Loretta asks, although she doesn’t wait for an answer before she goes on. “You have a good support system, you’ve got people to help you-- _use them._ Don’t be too proud to ask for help. Everybody needs help sometimes, Billy.” 

She’s probably the coolest social worker he’s ever met, really; most of them have been too fucking exhausted by their work to give a shit anymore or so young and bright-eyed and hopeful that they seem out of touch with reality. 

“Thank you, ma’am,” he says, “I really appreciate this, I know this isn’t typical.”

“There are plenty of people I work with who are too blind to see the things right in front of them,” she sighs, sounding unbearably tired, “but the way I see it, Max is probably gonna do a hell of a lot better with you than she would in a group home, and that’s where she’d end up, you and I both know that, so I’m always open to creative solutions.” Billy nods in agreement, stands up to leave, and Hopper meets him in the doorway, passes over a keyring, one key dangling from it.

“Here’s the key to the house, it’s on Wisteria Lane, number 237,” he says, “If you wanna go by and see what needs to be done.”

“Thanks, Hop,” he says, and Hopper pulls him into a hug, pats him not-very-gently on the back. 

“Proud of you, son,” Hop says, and gestures for Susan to come over. Billy smiles, shakes his head in disbelief. Steve’s already standing by the door, spinning Billy’s keys on his pointer finger like he’s ready to fucking _go._ Susan doesn't look at him directly when they cross paths; she keeps her eyes low and her shoulders hunched, like she's trying to be smaller. Billy would bet _money_ that she's making that face Max calls _rabbity_.

“What’s the plan, B?” he asks, looking Billy over like he’s checking to make sure Loretta didn’t, like, _maul him_ or something.

“We’re going by Hopper’s old place to see what’s up there, then we gotta pick up a salad and bring it to dinner at the Byers’,” Billy explains, and Steve nods, holds the door open for Billy.

“We can stop by the grocery store on the way out towards Hop’s,” Steve says, squinting in the late afternoon sunshine as they get in the car.

“So,” he asks casually as he’s backing out, “does this mean you’re gonna be living with Max _and_ three girls with superpowers all summer?”

“Oh _shit,_ ” Billy says, the reality of what he’s agreed to do setting in. “God _damnit,_ I’m gonna be babysitting the goddamn _X-Girls_ all goddamn summer, _fuck._ ” Steve laughs, long and loud and bright, and Billy lets all the fondness he's been ignoring all day flood him.

“I love you, princess,” he says, almost unconsciously, and Steve looks over at him, smiles with a flash of white teeth.

“Love you too, shug,” Steve says. “I’ll help you babysit; I’m actually a pretty damn good babysitter, I don’t know if you’ve heard.” Billy can’t help but laugh, relief flooding through him.

 

There really isn’t all that much that needs to be done with the house, all things considered. Hop’s got it all winterized still, which will need to change so they don’t _boil in their own skins_ if it ever gets above seventy degrees in this damn state, and it definitely needs a deep clean and an airing-out and a few little fixes that Billy already knows how to do. He wonders if Hop will let him paint and redecorate; the neutral everything and sad-vaguely-alcoholic-bachelor decor is pretty fucking rough, but Billy knows he and Steve and Max can make the place look nice.

“There’s three bedrooms,” Steve calls from the back of the house. “One for you, one for Max, and, uh, one for all the other girls, maybe?”

“Max can share with one of the other girls,” Billy says, waving away Steve’s concerns with his free hand even though Steve can’t see him. He’s got a list going, all the things he needs to buy and ask about in shop class and shit, scribbled on the back of the receipt from the grocery store, and he’s just writing down _new U-bend for sink_ when he feels Steve wrap himself around Billy’s torso, arms warm and solid. 

“Hey, B, are you okay?” Steve asks, gentle, like he’s afraid Billy’s gonna snap at him. It’s not unfair, honestly; Billy still doesn’t know what to do with gentle, sometimes, and he’s been an asshole, before, but he’s always trying, always working on getting better. 

“Yeah, baby, why wouldn’t I be?” Billy answers, putting the list and pen down on the counter and turning so he’s nose-to-nose with Steve. 

“You were pretty shaken up about Max getting hurt, and now you’re here, planning all these repairs and talking about getting another job to show that you can, like, _be Max’s parent_ or whatever, and it’s a little--I just, I just worry, is all.” Steve’s got that wrinkle in his brow like he wants to say something different but can’t find the words, anxious and a little frustrated, so Billy leans up, presses a kiss to Steve’s nervous mouth to soothe him a little.

“Yeah, Steve,” he whispers, curling in even closer. “I mean, it’s stressful, like, I’ve only got until August and then she has to go somewhere else, but I think I can do it, and I don’t _want her_ anywhere else, so I’m okay. I’ll make an appointment with Bethany, if you want me to, but I’m good, really.” As he’s talking, Billy realizes he’s trying to convince himself, too, that everything’s gonna be alright. He _never_ mentions Bethany to Steve, just disappears after school for an hour and ends up acting a little more needy than usual when he meets Steve after for pizza or whatever.

She helps a lot, and the fact that Will sees her too is kinda nice sometimes; Will’s standing appointment is right after Billy’s, every other Thursday, so Billy usually just hangs out for an hour, drops Will off at home after. Bethany’s chill usually, lets him complain and talk himself in circles and remember all the shit he’s been repressing for so long, but she holds him accountable or whatever, too, calls him on his bullshit when he needs it. She swears and laughs when he says something funny and last week she called Neil _an alcoholic, abusive shit-eating waste of space,_ which he’s pretty sure therapists aren’t, like, _supposed_ to say, but she was right, so.

It’s still hard to talk about therapy to other people, though, especially when Neil’s sneering rants about how _only rich kids and drama queens need fuckin’ shrinks_ rings loud through his head after every appointment. 

“I think it’d be a good idea to go in for an extra appointment, B, but it’s up to you,” Steve suggests, and Billy nods, fits his face in the curve of Steve’s neck and smells his cologne, the hint of dry sweat from sex and stress. Steve’s a safe place for Billy, now, and it would be terrifying if Billy didn’t know, with _absolute certainty,_ that Steve wouldn’t do anything to hurt him.

“You’ve got this, shug,” Steve murmurs, rubbing circles into Billy’s back. “It’s gonna be hard, but you’ve got Hopper and Joyce and me, and Nancy and Jonathan, too. I’ll be here every day if you want, and Nancy already told me she’s been working on the girls’ lesson plans for a month. You--we can do this.”

“Yeah,” Billy sighs; he tries to relax all his tense muscles, like Bethany’s taught him, and knowing he’s safe and with Steve makes it a little easier.

“You ready to go?” Steve asks, and Billy pulls himself away from Steve’s arms, rolls his neck to crack it. He’s got a good enough to-do list, for now anyways, and it’s almost six. Max’ll freak out if they’re late, Billy’s pretty sure, so he nods, grabs the scrap of a list and holds out a hand for Steve to grab. 

Steve drives, which is way more of a relief than Billy would’ve thought if you’d asked him a few months ago. The Cammy’s his baby, but Steve knows that, drives it careful around curves and doesn’t really speed, even on the back roads where Billy would usually open it up. He’s careful with the Camero, like he’s careful with Billy; he knows its limits like he knows Billy’s, and he doesn’t push them too hard.

“You know you can talk to me about this stuff, too,” Steve says when they’re most of the way to the Byers’; his voice is casual, but it’s clear he’s trying to sound like he’s nonchalant. “Like, I know you have Axel and Bethany and Hop and stuff, but, like, you aren’t gonna scare me with anything you have to say, you know that, right?”

Billy _knows that,_ but it’s different, talking to the rest of them; Axel gets where Billy is, has been there for a while and is just now starting to try to deal with it himself, and Hop’s been where Billy has almost exactly, and he doesn’t feel like he has to impress Bethany. Steve, though, well--it’s like he feels like he has to protect Steve from shit, like he doesn’t want to show Steve all the bullshit he’s gonna end up dealing with eventually all at once because _what if he leaves?_ What if he’s too overwhelmed by all Billy’s shit and he decides to find some nice girl who’s not as fucked up as Billy is to marry and have 2.5 pretty, big-eyed kids with in a stupid house in the suburbs?

“I know, baby,” he says after a long minute of thinking. “I just, this is gonna sound fucking _dumb_ but I just don’t wanna scare you off, like, I’m _pretty fucked up,_ you know?”

“ _Billy,_ ” Steve sighs all dramatic, “I haven’t slept without the bathroom light on for _months._ I wake up screaming about fucking _monsters_ from some other fucking _dimension._ My parents only come home _four times a year_ , and my dad hasn’t told me he loves me since I was _five,_ and you love me anyways, so why wouldn’t I feel the same way about _your_ shit?” He pulls into the Byers’ driveway, crunches to a stop, looks Billy in the eye. “I’m not gonna push, I know that doesn’t help, but I don’t give _a shit_ how many sharp edges you’ve got, I love the hell out of you _no matter what._ ”

“I love you too,” Billy says, all sheepish, and leans over to kiss Steve, sweet and comforting. 

“Let’s go, if I know Max she’s recovered enough from the stress to be hungry, and if we don’t get in there fast there won’t be any pizza left for us,” Steve smiles, grabs the bag of salad stuff from the backseat.

 _Everybody_ is in the house, apparently; Joyce is setting out plates and glasses and Jonathan and Nancy are opening up a veritable _feast_ of pizza boxes and all of the kids are in the living room yelling about some dumb tv show, Max and Will and Lucas and Dustin and Mike and El and even fucking _Clem_. Max’s face is cleaned up all nice, but there are bruises forming here and there, reminders of Neil’s fingers and his ring and his _bullshit._ She's not really paying attention to Billy, just waves when he comes in and goes back to shoving at Lucas. Billy needs a goddamn cigarette.

“I’m going out for a smoke, I’ll be back in a sec,” Billy says, and, “Save me a couple slices of pepperoni.” Steve looks at him, clearly a little worried, but he doesn’t say anything about it, just nods. 

The Byers’ still makes him feel a little weird sometimes; yeah, it’s where the kids play D&D sometimes and where Billy had the best Christmas he's ever had, but it’s also where Max drugged him and threatened his balls, where Billy fucked up worse than he probably _ever_ has, before or since. Being there now, while Max is all fucked up from Neil’s handiwork and Billy’s stressed about, well, _everything,_ is especially rough. He’s gonna have to get used to it, if he’s gonna spend as much time with Max as he wants to, but it’s not particularly fun. 

Billy’s standing there, lost in thought and smoking a cigarette faster than he probably should when the back door opens halfway. Nancy slips out, shuts all the clamor and excitement in the house. 

“Got a smoke?” she asks, trying to sound all _tough,_ and Billy huffs out half a laugh, passes over the pack of menthols. She pulls one out, hand back the pack but keeps her hand out for his lighter. He rolls his eyes, slaps it lazily into her hand, and she lights up, pulling her hair back.

“My mom says she can smell it on my hair,” she explains, cigarette wobbling as her mouth moves. “She isn’t nearly as accurate as she thinks she is, especially since Joyce taught me to exhale upwards, but it still gets me out of a lecture. So, Jonathan said you and Max and all the Chicago girls are gonna be staying in the Chief’s old place this summer?” She’s not subtle _at all,_ but it’s gonna affect her, too, so he feels okay explaining it.

“Yeah, it’s gonna be a _pain in my ass_ , living with four teenage girls and working two jobs, I guess. I, uh, I probably won’t be able to help out too much with the summer school stuff, though, I hope that’s okay.” They’d been planning to split the work half-and-half, but there’s no way he’s gonna work his way through the whole summer without _any_ time to have fun, that’s _horseshit._

“Yeah, I assumed,” she says around an exhale, not as prissy as usual. “It’ll be fine, though. I might be able to get Clem to help, she’s good at explaining stuff and _way_ more patient than any of the boys. Even if I can’t, we’re all gonna work together to make sure Max stays with you, you know.”

“Yeah?” he asks, more vulnerable than he means to be. “I mean, it’s not _your problem,_ really. I’ll be fine.”

“We’re friends, _right?_ ” Nancy asks, sounds like she knows exactly what answer she wants. She’s going to be a _tyrant_ of a teacher this summer with a tone like that, but she probably needs it, if she’s gonna be teaching four half-feral girls by herself. “Because I know you know that _friends don’t lie,_ but friends _also_ don’t abandon their friends when they need help, Billy.” She pats Billy’s arm, barely even patronizing, and Billy smiles, looks at her licking the roof of her mouth like she’s trying to get rid of the minty, smoky film menthols give you sometimes and thinks _maybe, maybe this’ll turn out alright._ Hopper pulls up then, groans low and long as he gets out of the car. 

“Jesus _god,_ Neil Hargrove is one feisty sum’bitch,” he grunts, clearly sore from the long day. “We transferred him over to county and he fought like a goddamn _rhino_ the whole time, it was a fuckin’ nightmare.”

“I’m not surprised,” Billy says drily, and Hop shrugs, waves the thought of Neil away. “So Susan didn’t try to bail him out already?”

“I called the judge, asked him not to decide Neil’s bail until Friday when the court’s actually in session, so even if she’d wanted to, she couldn’t. Oh, Nancy, _while you’re here,_ ” Hop says, voice all fake-casual, “Since you’re probably gonna have to teach the girls by yourself this summer, I figured I’d offer you a raise, up to, say, six-fifty an hour, twenty hours a week?”

“Oh, uh, sure,” Nancy says, dropping her cigarette and crushing the butt with a twist of her foot nonchalantly. “I think I can get Clem’s mom to let her help, too, if I can pay her out of my wages, and with that raise I'm pretty sure I can convince her. Thanks, Hop.”

“Listen, I’d pay a king’s ransom not to have to wrangle all those girls by myself this summer,” Hop laughs, an easy, tired smile on his face. “Is there any pizza left, after the kids got to it?”

“Probably, let’s go see,” Nancy says, and Billy stubs out his cigarette, opens the door for Hop and Nancy. Joyce pulls out an unopened pizza box from one of the lower cabinets, passes them plates.

“You were holding out on us,” Dustin accuses, and everybody cracks up. When Billy goes to sit down next to Steve on the floor, Max moves from her seat on the couch to sit cross-legged next to him, tips her head onto his shoulder. 

“You feeling okay?” he asks quietly, between bites of pizza. “It can take a while, for everything to start hurting.”

“Can I cut my hair?” she asks instead of answering his question directly, apropos of nothing. Her eyes are bright in her face, though, fierce, and Billy remembers, back when he’d first let his get really long, how Neil had used it as a fucking handle, drug him around with it. 

“Yeah, kid,” he says, gentle. “Let me finish eating, and then we’ll cut it. I bet Joyce has scissors.”

“I help my mom cut my brothers’ hair,” Clem offers from her spot on the floor, back against the couch. “I can help, if--if you want me to, Max.”

“Yeah, thanks,” Max says. “I don’t want it too short, though, like, when my hair’s too short it puffs out like a triangle and I don’t wanna be a pyramid head for my school photos, god that would be a nightmare.” 

“I bet we could just take off, like, a few inches and it would be okay, Max,” Steve suggests. “Then it would still be long enough to braid back for hockey and training and stuff.”

“Ugh, _don’t_ remind me about training, I still need to do all my burpees for today,” Max groans, lolling her head around. 

“I guess you can have, like, two days off, if you want,” Steve says, and Max glares poison at him.

“I don’t want any _special treatment,_ ” she spits, half-angry, and Steve just shrugs, nods like _whatever, it’s your funeral._

All the kids try to squeeze into the bathroom to see Max’s haircut, which is cute, if _incredibly annoying,_ but when Billy tries to kick them all out, Max is instantly about half a second from a giant freakout, so Joyce suggests that they all move to the porch, where everyone can see without crowding anybody.

“Okay, hold still,” Clem says, biting her lip as she puts the scissors to Max’s hair, a handswidth above her split ends. “If you squirm around, it’ll be uneven, and then I’ll have to cut more, so don’t move for, like, the next five minutes.” 

Max nods, realizes she’s moving, sits up straighter than Billy’s ever seen her. He’s sitting next to her, holding her hand like she’s having something painful happen; El is on her other side, wincing at how tight Max is holding her hand. The look on her face says it is a little painful, at least emotionally, anyway, the way she has her nose all scrunched up and her eyes shut tight, but her shoulders are loose, and her chin is firm, proud. 

“You’re gonna be okay,” Billy finds himself murmuring, quiet enough that the boys probably can’t hear, not that any of them are stupid enough to say anything even if they did. “I’m so fucking sorry you had to deal with all this shit, but you’re so fuckin’ smart and _brave_ that you’re gonna be just fine. I’m proud of you, brat.” 

She squeezes his hand, and a tear rolls down her face. 

“You don’t want, like, _bangs_ or anything, right?” Clem asks, sounding a little panicked at the idea, and Max smiles, huffs out a laugh while she tries to stay still. “ _God no,_ her curl’s too tight for that,” Billy says, offended a little. “Just take the length off.”

“Good to see you’re just as vain about Max’s hair as you are yours,” Steve cracks, and everybody except Max and Clem giggles. Billy just makes eye contact with Steve and mouths _Farrah Fawcett;_ Steve goes pale and smacks Dustin to try to stop him from laughing.

“If everyone could just, like, _chill out_ so Max’s hair doesn’t look like a _sixty-five-year-old blind woman with arthritis cut it while she was drunk_ that would be, like, _awesome,_ ” Clem says, all testy; the valley-girl affect she uses on _awesome_ is so funny Billy has to pinch himself to keep from laughing. He's well within the range of the kitchen scissors she’s using to trim Max’s hair, and he knows it. When he glances over at the peanut gallery, everyone else is clearly too afraid of Clem to laugh, too. 

After a quiet few minutes, Clem sits up, cracks her neck and pronounces Max’s hair _done!_ Max shakes herself loose; she’s always moving something, and sitting still even for that long after the shitty fucking day she’s had must’ve been tough. 

“Thanks, Clem,” she says, and, a little quieter, “How does it look, everybody?”

There’s a chorus of awkward teenage boys all talking over each other to talk about how nice she looks, and Steve gives her a silly, overexaggerated thumbs up. Billy has to pause for a moment to remind himself that he’s in love with a person who is quite possibly _the cheesiest human being on planet earth._

“Looks bitchin’,” El says, and Max smiles all shy, tries to hide behind her curtain of hair before she realizes it’s a little too short to do that, now. Billy wraps his arm around her shoulders, chafes her upper arm. It's probably not gonna be, like, _smooth_ or anything, but she's gonna make it, if it's the last thing Billy does.


	2. (tell me more, tell me more) did you get very far?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there's a time jump, the boys (plus Max and El) take a road trip, and there's some more hot, hot summer lovin'.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi friends, I am SO SO SORRY this chapter took me almost a month (?!?!) to get out to y'all. My rheumatologist put me on a new med to help with my joint pain and it's basically just fucked up my whole life, lol. (I'm doing alright now, just grumpy that I basically lost a month of my summer to depression and sickness, BOO.)
> 
> I do plan on having the next chapter out sometime in the next two weeks, so don't expect such a horrifyingly long wait this time!! Also, thanks SO MUCH to all of you lovely readers who've left kudos, bookmarked or subscribed to this story, and/or left me kind comments--you guys really do make my world go 'round.

“I can’t _believe_ Old Man Riley at the hardware store was out of fucking spackle, that _asshole,_ ” Billy gripes, and Steve hides a laugh in his sleeve. It’s finally warm enough to be in shorts and t-shirts, but Billy’s still in jeans and a loose, mostly-unbuttoned shirt, still making Steve’s mouth water with want like he always has.

“Like, I _wanted_ to have everything done before we went up to Chicago, but now I can’t finish painting my room until after we get back,” Billy goes on, oblivious to Max, standing behind him and copying his movements exactly while she mimes along. Steve’s fighting the urge to laugh so desperately that he might start _crying_ in a second if she doesn’t quit; he flaps his hand at her like _please, enough, stop_ but she doesn’t, of course not, why _would_ she?

“I’m sorry, shug,” Steve chokes out, a beat after he probably should’ve realized Billy was waiting for a response. Billy whirls around, catches Max in a headlock and gives her a noogie, waggling his tongue at Steve in what he probably thinks is retaliation. She screeches, wiggles like she’s trying to get away, and Steve gives in to the urge to laugh. He’s half on the floor, laughing so hard he can’t catch his breath, and Billy’s making some stupid Tarzan noise he picked up somewhere last month and won’t stop doing while he scrubs at Max’s scalp with his knuckles. Hop walks in the front door, El behind him with a little overnight bag in one hand, and shakes his head at the sorry sight of them, losing their goddamn minds about nothing at all.

It’s been a long few months, though, what with everything that’s been going on. Steve’s parents keep calling and asking about his _future,_ even though he’s already made up his mind to go to the academy, technically _has a spot_ at the Academy starting in September, so long as he can pass the physical exam in Springfield this summer. He hasn’t exactly told them yet, though, mostly because the last time he’d tried to broach the subject with the two of them, his dad had gone off about _police getting all our godforsaken taxes, and for what, all they do is fuckin’ eat donuts and write bullshit speeding tickets_ and he’d dropped the subject.

Max is settled at the Byers’, _finally_. She’d spent three weeks screaming herself awake, lashing out at everyone but Billy in her terror, and then another two weeks starting fights at school whenever anyone brought up Neil, which, once Troy and his fucking lackeys had realized it, meant Billy or Joyce had had to pick her up from school every day for a _week._ She talks about what happened, now, not just with Billy but with El and Lucas and sometimes even _Steve,_ if she’s having a good day when he picks her up for dryland practice. She’s gone into hockey with a vengeance since everything happened; last week she gave some kid who’d tried to cross check her during a game of pickup street hockey a bloody nose and laughed about it. Billy makes jokes about her being a Broad Street Bully, and Steve has a nightmare-orange jersey with Schulz sewn on the back for her, for whenever he feels like she needs a pick-me-up.

Billy’s been so busy it’s _insane,_ applying for jobs and trying to take care of Max even though Joyce has it covered and Max is starting to chafe under all the parenting she’s getting and working at the shop and getting the house ready. He’s been painting furiously this week, too tired to do much more than fall into bed when he comes over to Steve’s, and before that he was fixing the plumbing even though it mostly worked already and before _that_ he was rewiring the bedrooms and before _that_ he had made Steve help him scrub the whole goddamn house, like, _even the baseboards._ Steve’s come home to find Billy talking to Steve’s housekeeper about the best way to get cigarette smell out of carpet more than once. 

Steve’s no psychologist or anything, but he’s pretty sure Billy’s been funneling all his anxiety about everything into the house. He doesn’t act nervous, won’t tell Steve what keeps him up at night, hadn’t even visibly freaked out about their first meeting with Loretta even though he hasn’t found another job yet and the summer is flying towards them faster and faster, August looming in the distance like a stormcloud. He lets Steve help, though, not just by spreading baking soda and vinegar all over the carpets for Billy to vacuum up or helping pick furniture at Goodwill but by holding him close, making Billy take a goddamn _break_ when he’s been up for eighteen hours and can’t put down the paintbrush, buying him pizza after his therapy appointments.

There have been bright spots too, of course: the night of Billy’s birthday, spent stoned and naked in Steve’s empty house and edible body paint that Axel’d mailed them as a gag gift; prom, which had been _especially_ excellent because of Billy’s plaintive looks begging Steve to rescue him from all the girls who wanted to dance close and breathe cotton-candy lipgloss in his face; Steve’s graduation, celebrated with a barbeque and so much beer and the first time Steve’d been able to relax with people in his pool since--well, since his junior year at least. It’s just that it’s been _exhausting,_ trying to coordinate kids and work and school and the house and being decent boyfriends to each otehr. 

“Alright, you weirdos,” Hop says once he pulls his face out of his hands and sighs heavily like _why don’t I get paid for this shit._ “You gotta get on the road, you’re gonna hit the five o’clock traffic in Chicago and be stuck on the highway for an extra hour and a half if you aren’t careful. Billy, Steve, don’t forget to call me _and_ Joyce when you get to Patti’s, just in case one of us isn’t home or something. I gave El a couple twenties for gas money, so you won’t run out in the middle of nowhere as long as you pay attention to your gas gauge. I know you guys’ll be fine, but be careful, still.” Hopper’s a little nervous too, clearly, by the way he slips into Dad Mode, which is unsettlingly similar to Sheriff Mode.

“We’ll be fine,” Billy waves him off, grabs his backpack from the front entryway. “Max, did you pack a toothbrush? Your teeth are gonna rot outta your head if you don’t take care of ‘em, we don’t have cavity money right now.”

“I think _the state_ is supposed to pay my medical bills now, Billy,” Max taunts, sticking out her tongue, and Billy reaches for her like he’s gonna give her another noogie. She slips out the door, her bag in hand, and starts hollering for Billy to unlock the Camaro, jerking the handle just to be an asshole.

“You good riding with me, kiddo?” Steve asks El, who smiles big, nods.

“I like your music better,” she says, nodding, and Billy huffs all offended. El giggles a little, scrunches her nose up. “Yours is so _angry,_ and I don’t want angry all the time, I want _happy._ ”

“ _Whatever,_ ” Billy brushes it off, playing like his pride’s all wounded. “Go listen to Hall and Oates or Madonna or whatever, we’ll be driving the cool car.”

“Don’t speed, either, please,” Hopper warns, sighing again. “At least, not where the state troopers can see you, Billy, I can’t get you out of _every_ fuckin’ speeding ticket you get.”

“You haven’t gotten me out of a _single_ speeding ticket, old man,” Billy protests, “In fact, you _gave me_ one last month, you asshole.” He’s laughing, pulling the Chief in for a bear hug. 

“Well, quit goddamn speeding down Main Street, _Jee-zus,_ ” Hopper argues back with a chuckle.

“Alright, _enough,_ ” Steve says, rolling his eyes. “We really _are_ gonna hit traffic if you two don’t quit shooting the shit.”

“Let’s GOOOOOOOO,” Max yells at the same time, hanging her head out of the car door. “We’re gonna be LAAAAATE!”

“You haven’t even _met them,_ ” Steve hears Billy grumble under his breath as he holds the door for Steve and Hopper, locks it behind them. “Why do you gotta be so damn _impatient_ about everything?”

“Pot, meet kettle,” Steve teases, brushing close to give Billy a kiss. “Don’t go so fast I can’t keep up, you jerk, we gotta stop for gas and stuff together, yeah?”

“I’ll _always_ wait for you,” Billy jokes, or tries to, really; he sounds all _earnest_ in the way that makes Steve’s stomach squirm with pleasure.

“You’re so gross,” Steve sighs all happy, squeezing Billy’s hand in his own. “See you at the next gas station.”

El does like Steve’s music; she bops along to Duran Duran with him, and when the tape’s over and he turns on the country station, she seems happy enough with Dolly and Dwight Yokum. They don’t talk much, because Steve’s not great at trying to fill silence when he doesn’t feel like it’s necessary and El is surprisingly okay with quiet, not like Max who needs some kind of mental stimulation all the time or she goes fucking _berzerk._ El scrunches up her nose when _Baby’s Got Her Blue Jeans On,_ and when Steve asks why, she blushes, laughs awkwardly.

“This song is how you feel about Billy’s blue jeans,” she says after a pregnant pause, then hides her face a little bit, clearly embarrassed. Steve blushes, too, but he doesn’t deny it; instead, he turns up the radio, drawls along just to hear her squeal about being grossed out. They drive for a couple hours before Billy gets out of the fast lane and slows down enough for Steve to catch up, pulls off at the next exit.

“Max, chill, you’re fucking _killing me,_ I’m gonna make you ride with Steve if you don’t quit bothering me,” Billy’s saying when Steve pulls to a stop at the gas pump. 

“Fine, maybe I will, _he_ doesn’t squash my creativity,” Max says back, but there’s no bite. Sometimes, Steve can’t help but see a lot of himself in her, half-arguing with Billy about nothing just to keep his attention. She likes to push boundaries, likes to see what she can get away with, but that’s all Billy, the way she pushes and _pushes_ and knows exactly where the line is, exactly what to say to defuse a situation or blow it to hell.

“I’m just _saying,_ I don’t think it’s necessary that I, as your brother-who’s-gonna-be-your-guardian, should really be your sounding board for how you and Lucas can scheme to get more time alone together this summer, I’m pretty sure I’m supposed to be _discouraging_ your deviancy, you shithead,” Billy argues back, and then acknowledges Steve with a wink and a smirk that says pretty clearly that Billy’s planning his _own_ schemes to get some alone time with Steve this summer. “Steve, will you _please_ take Max the next leg of the way? El, I’ll even let you pick the music, I just can’t hold a conversation with this brat for the next three hours in Chicago traffic, _god_.”

“Yeah,” Steve says, all stupid about the heated look on Billy’s face. “El, Max, go get some snacks, I want a Ding-Dong and a bag of Lays and a Coke.” He passes El a ten spot, and she and Max go inside the gas station, whispering and laughing way louder than necessary the whole time.

“Get me some beef jerky and a cherry Coke,” Billy calls after then, and Max waves her hand over her shoulder at him like _we’ll see,_ the little monster. 

“I’ve got a _ding-dong_ you want,” Billy leers, once they’re alone; they’re in some tiny-ass town right off the highway, and it’s deserted at this time of day on a Tuesday, so Steve feels comfortable enough to flirt back, even if he doesn’t reach out to touch Billy like he wants to, just in case the clerk is looking.

“ _Gross,_ Billy,” Steve says, rolling his eyes. “ _Please_ don’t ever refer to your junk as any form of baked good, it’s nasty.” 

“What do you think the odds are that I could get you off while _exclusively_ referring to my dick as baked goods?” Billy asks, all casual, in that tone of voice that makes Steve want to do something stupid and dramatic like die or, worse, _beg._

“Oh my god,” Steve tries to scoff, but it comes out a little choked, which Steve’s happy to blame on the way Billy’s adjusting himself in his jeans, _way_ more dramatically than he needs to. Both of their gas pumps clunk to a stop at the same time, and Steve goes in to pay for their gas before he does something stupid like reel Billy in for a kiss in broad daylight at a gas station in some podunk town where they might get murdered for doing it. Billy seems to have the same idea (about the gas, anyways), and they get into a playful shoving match, both trying to reach the cash register first. The girls are still trying to decide on their snack choices, apparently, and they make a valiant effort to pretend they’ve never seen Billy and Steve in their lives when the two fo them come crashing into the store. 

“Hi, I’m paying for the gas at pumps one and three. Oh, that’s a cute photo,” Steve says to the bored-looking girl working the cash register when he finally slaps down enough cash to cover their gas on the counter and hip-checks Billy back behind him. The photo is of a family standing in front of a giant statue of Frankenstein, big, cheesy smiles on all their faces. He thinks he recognizes the girl in front of him, a few years younger and happier with a mouth full of braces, her mom’s arm around her shoulders and her dad grinning all cheesy next to them. In real life, she’s probably, like, seventeen, with a giant teased perm and a whole lot of bright pink blush and a _piss off_ kind of attitude that Steve admires. She kind of reminds him of Kali, funnily enough.

“Ugh,” she complains, popping her gum. “My mom won’t let me take it down, it’s like she’s _trying_ to embarrass me. It’s from that restaurant in Gary Frank-N-Furter, you know? It’s, like, _so dumb,_ but it’s kinda cute, too, in that fifties diner kinda way.”

“We haven’t been,” Steve says while she makes change. “Is the food any good?”

“We don’t have time to stop for a real meal, dude,” Billy says, elbowing Steve. “We gotta get to Chicago before five if we’re ever gonna make it to Patti’s.”

“We could go on the way back, though, B,” Steve offers, and Billy’s rolling his eyes. “It’s El’s first road trip, we gotta do something stupid and kitschy like that.”

“You guys just moving through, then?” the girl asks, looking at them with a little curiosity now. It’s kind of an ego boost, really, the way she eyes them both up and down, lingers on Billy’s exposed chest and Steve’s forearms, thick with muscle from stickhandling with Max and doing rope climbs in training.

“Yeah, just taking those two little hellcats up to visit some old friends,” Billy answers, giving her that smile that makes all the housewives in Hawkins weak in the knees and jerking his thumb over his shoulder at the girls, their arms full of junk food. 

“Oh, cool,” she says, feigning disinterest. “Well, if you come back through here on your way back, make sure to come say hi to me, I guess.”

“We will,” Max pipes up, shoving her way past Steve and Billy to drop her load of shit on the counter. “And _yeah,_ Billy, El needs a real road trip experience, it’s, like, a national rite of passage or whatever.”

“You just want to take a picture in front of that dumb statue so you can show everyone what a fuckin’ dweeb I look like,” Billy argues, but it’s clear he’s gonna give in by the time they’re on their way back tomorrow.

“Maybe,” Max says all devious as she pulls El up to drop her load of snacks for the cashier to scan. “Hey, uh, Steve, we might need more money for all this, we’re _growing girls_ and stuff, we need nutrition.”

“Bullshit,” Billy says as he passes her another five, rolling his eyes. “Nobody needs this much crap, it’s all sugar and carbs. When was the last time you ate a veggie, you gremlin?”

“ _Yesterday,_ we had a salad with dinner and peas in our mac and cheese,” Max shoots back, rolling her eyes back at him like _so there._

“Alright, we gotta get back on the road,” Steve says, nods in thanks as politely as he can at the cashier as he shoves Max and Billy bodily out of the store before they can come to blows. 

El’s carrying the bags of snacks, sorting them as she follows behind the Hargroves and Steve.

“Max, you wanted the Bugles, right?” El asks, already shoving them into what Steve assumes must be the Camaro snack bag. 

“ _Witch fingers,_ ” Max says with a thrill, wiggling her own fingers at Billy like a psycho as she takes the bag of snacks from El. 

“You are _literally_ going to be the death of me,” Billy sighs as Max yanks open the passenger side door of Steve’s car and throws herself in.

“STEVE,” she yells, loud enough that Steve winces even from the other side of the glass. “Did you bring my Madonna tape??”

“Good luck with that,” Billy smirks, winking as he gets into the Camaro. 

Max screeches along with Madonna for about half an hour before she gets bored; Steve just tries to sort of hold on for the ride. 

“What are they like?” Max asks when she finally turns down the radio. “The other girls, I mean.”

“Well, you’ve met Kali,” Steve starts out, not sure how to explain much else. It’s not like he’s had all that much interaction with them, really, other than the brief weekend he’d spent trying not to _freak the fuck out_ about Billy being alive and in one piece. “And, uh, Ten mostly just seemed like she had a good head on her shoulders, and Anne was kinda freaked out when I got to spend any time with her so--wait, why didn’t you ask Billy about them, or El? They both, like, talk on the phone with them and stuff, you know.”

“Well, Billy only knows what Axel tells him and Axel’s like their big brother, like, I know Billy probably wouldn’t say the same things about me that you would, right?” Max is quieter than usual, and that’s when it kind of clicks--she’s _nervous._ “And they’re basically El’s family, so, like, even though they aren’t like related they are, you know, so it’s important that they like me, and I know I can be--a lot, so…”

“Max,” Steve says, gentle, “You _are_ a lot, but so is Billy and so is El and so are all the dumb boys in the party and so am _I_ and we all still like each other most of the time, right?”

“Well, yeah, but what if--” she’s whispering so low he can barely hear her over Madonna, _the sadness disappears when you are near,_ “But what if El decides she likes them better than me?”

“That’s not how friends work,” Steve tries to reassure her after a minute of thinking. “Plus I bet Anne and Austen are thinking the same thing, you know, _they’re_ gonna be somewhere where they don’t know anybody that well except Kali, and if they don’t like it in Hawkins they’re stuck there for a whole summer with jack shit to do unless y’all are nice enough to make friends and show them around.”

“I guess,” Max mutters after a minute of quiet, then, with much more enthusiasm, “Do you think Kali knows how to play hockey?”

“ _Absolutely_ not,” Steve says, already emotionally preparing himself to teach a bunch of girls with magic powers how to play street hockey with Max as his assistant coach. “Why, you think she’d like it?”

“ _Steve,_ ” she sighs, condescending as hell, like the answer’s obvious. “ _Of course_ Kali would like hockey, I mean, _I_ like hockey and I feel like Kali and I are on the same page as far as organized violence goes.”

“I guess,” Steve says, but really, she’s got a point, if he’s honest. “Ten might like it too. Who do you think’s gonna win the cup next year?” They argue about hockey for the next hour or so, and she actually manages to drift off for a little nap after their argument peters out. He nudges her awake when they hit Chicago proper, so she can see the city. 

“It’s no California,” she grumps, but he can see she’s excited to be in a big city again. “SO, are we gonna drive by the place where Billy got taken?” She sounds way too close to being excited about the prospect for Steve’s sanity. _Jesus christ,_ she’s a fucking headcase. 

“You’re a fucking __headcase, you know that, right?” Steve asks incredulously. “ _No,_ we’re not going to see any of the places where Billy was _taken hostage,_ are you insane?”

“I mean, Patti and Axel still work at the place where he got taken,” she argues, as if that’s a legitimate response. 

“Yeah, but they weren’t _kidnapped there,_ you fucking crazy person,” he sighs, merges into the exit ramp behind Billy like there’s actually enough space for his car to fit there. They’re a little early for true Chicago rush hour, but the highway’s still busy enough that he has to drive pretty aggressively; it _is_ a big city, after all. “Listen, just, like, don’t make Billy feel weird about it, okay? He’s still kind of messed up about it, and I don’t blame him. He could’ve _died,_ you _know that,_ so, like, be chill, please.”

“Yeah, okay,” Max huffs. “I mean, he doesn’t bring up Neil or my mom or anything unless I do first, I guess that’s fair.”

“I mean, I’ll tell you everything _I_ know about it, if you want and it’s okay with Billy for me to,” Steve offers, and Max nods like that’s a good enough compromise for her.

“You’re gonna like Patti, though,” Steve says after a minute of what passes for silence with Max around. She’s humming along to Prince now, _we’re not gonna let the elevator get us down, oh no let’s go!_ “She’s all spitfire like you, I mean, she’d have to be to raise a bunch of girls with superpowers _and_ deal with Axel all day long at work.”

“Well, yeah,” Max says, like, _duh, of course._ “She’s a badass nurse and stuff, too, don’t forget that.” As if Steve could; sometimes, on bad nights, he has nightmares of Billy’s fucked-up face, grimacing hard as she cleans his wounds, as she says there’s nothing else she can do and Billy’s gonna die. Usually, he has to call Billy on those nights, if he’s not already in Steve’s bed, hear his sleep-thick voice and be reassured that Billy’s still gonna be there in the morning. 

“I know, Bully,” he shoots back, and she laughs, turns up the radio, and they rock out to Prince all the way to Patti’s new apartment.

* * *

“Now, I don’t know _how_ the girls managed to find so much stuff to take with them, but I’m pretty sure it’s not all gonna fit in the trunk, so I hope you’re all ready to cuddle up with each other on the drive home,” Patti complains goodnaturedly. 

“We _are_ gonna be gone for, like, two and a half months, Momma Patti,” Austen sighs, rolling her eyes. “Plus, I didn’t even pack any books, I’m gonna be _so bored,_ ugh.”

“Don’t piss on my head and tell me it’s raining, Austen, I know you got a backpack full of Tolkien and that other guy, uh, _Kratchet_ or whoever ready to go in the car with you,” Patti retorts, smiling big and happy. “I guess it is true that you’ll all need clothes and stuff, though.”

“Oh _god,_ ” Max groans, “Somebody _else_ for the boys to geek out about Lord of the Rings with, _great_.” Anne glances at her, laughs along with El like she’s not sure if she should or not.

“What _ever,_ Max, you talked my ear off about how you’re gonna level up your druid for the next D&D campaign the whole way up here,” Billy says, and Max blushes bright. It’s not like she should be embarrassed, like, El calls the Chicago girls after every session and gives them an unneccessarily detailed explanation of everything that happened, including all the ways Steve and Billy manage to fuck up the rules, which happens every time. If the Chicago girls aren’t prepared for a bunch of dweebs, they’re delusional. 

“You play a druid?” Ten asks, and she and Max are off, talking about _paths of druidity_ or something. 

“I call not having the two of them in the car together on the way back,” Steve says all smug in Billy’s ear, and Billy elbows him. 

“Fuck off,” he whispers back, leaning in to press a kiss to Steve’s cheek. Everyone’s in the living room except Axel and Kali, who borrowed Steve’s car to go pick something up. Billy’s, like, _eighty percent sure_ they’re stockpiling weed for Kali for the summer; he’s bitched enough to both of them about how shitty small-town Ohio bud can be for long enough that Kali’s terrified of running dry. Anne looks a little overwhelmed by all the new people, but she and El are squeezed into one of the overstuffed armchairs, murmuring in each other’s ears, so Billy’s pretty sure El’s got Anne covered, for now at least. 

“If I have to take them, I get Kali too,” Billy negotiates, and Steve chuckles, nods.

“Sounds fair to me,” Steve agrees, and Patti sidles over to talk to them. 

“You got enough room for all this in your cars?” she asks, waving at the mountain of bags and blankets and stuff near the doorway. 

“Yeah, we’ll manage,” Steve smiles, all reassuring. Billy’s so fucking _lucky,_ to have a guy who’s kind and patient and good with adults and basically all the things Billy isn’t. Billy’s so overwhelmed with love for a second that he can’t help but grab for Steve’s hand. 

“You gonna be lonely up here, with just Axel for company?” Billy says, half-joking, and Patti laughs along with him. 

“ _Hell no,_ it’ll be nice to be able to hear myself think for once,” she jokes. “But it probably won’t just be me and Axel, he’s got this _new boy_ coming around.”

“A new boy?” Billy asks, shocked. He and Axel talk _all the damn time,_ like, at least once a week, and Axel’s apparently been holding out on him? He’ll have to get the full details from Axel (or, more realistically, Kali) later. 

“Yeah, some cornfed transplant from the middle of nowhere, Iowa. He came into the clinic a while ago to get tested, and he’s been sniffing around Axel ever since. He finally got up enough courage to ask Axel out last week. It’s all been _very dramatic,_ of course,” Patti says, eyes dancing with gossip.

“I’ll make sure to get all the dirty details,” Billy assures her, winking big and silly at her.

 

The ride back home takes longer, and not just because they stop for lunch and an embarrassing group photo at that Frankenstein restaurant using the Polaroid camera Billy gave Max for her birthday a few weeks ago. It seems like every hour or so, somebody new has to pee and just can’t hold it, so they have to stop, _again._ That, plus the fact that they’re all squished into their seats next to all the luggage and blankets and pillows the girls can’t live without, means that by the time they pull into the driveway at Billy’s, everybody’s a little tired of each other. 

Steve has a distinct feeling that he got the better end of the deal on the drive home; sure, he couldn’t see out half the back window because of the crap piled in behind him, but he didn’t have to play mediator between Max and Austen’s mostly good-natured arguing, either. Billy looks like he needs a fucking _break,_ a beer or a joint or an orgasm or _something_ to keep him from going batshit insane.

“Alright,” Steve announces to the girls, looking at the frustration writ clear across Billy’s face as he hauls bags out of his trunk to pile on the gravel of the driveway. “Time for a little break from each other. Joyce is hosting a cookout tonight, so you’re all gonna see each other again then. Max, El, I’ll run you two home. Kali, Austen, Anne, will you three be okay unpacking by yourselves?” Kali’s nodding, already carrying bags in.

“What about Billy?” Max asks, nosy as usual, and Steve rolls his eyes at her, tries to think on the fly. 

“Uh, Mr. Riley said he would have spackle for the walls in at the hardware store today, right Billy?” Steve widens his eyes at Billy like _don’t blow this and we can have a few hours to ourselves._

“Uh, oh, _yeah!_ He did say that,” Billy agrees, half a beat behind, and Kali shoots him and then Steve a look that says _I know what you’re doing,_ but she doesn’t call their bullshit. Steve grimaces at her as if to say _sorry, my boyfriend’s strung too tight for his own good right now_ and she winks back like she understands. Steve focuses on unloading his own car, handing over bags and backpacks and shit over for the girls to ferry inside.

“Ok, Max, El, let’s go,” he says as soon as everything’s unloaded, suddenly feeling exhausted. They pile into his car, already whispering in each other’s ears. 

“I _told you_ they’d like you,” El says all snotty as they’re pulling away from the house. “You didn’t have anything to worry about, did you?” She’s probably been spending too much time with Nancy, to have that uppity little tone, but Nancy’s great with her, and El needs an older sister kind of person around in real life, not just over the phone like Kali is.

“Well, _sor-ry_ if I wanted to make a good impression,” Max says, her feelings a little hurt, before she switches gears. “ _God,_ Mike and Ten are gonna get in so many arguments about nerd stuff, _holy shit._ ”

“You’re my best friend, they have to like you,” El says softly, and when Steve glances in the rear view mirror, she’s holding Max’s hand. Max looks almost exactly like Billy does when he’s pissy and Steve says sweet things to him and squishes him into a hug, all hard edges and gooey center. “And I don’t want to be there when Mike asks Austen about the _Cinnamon_ or whatever, ugh.”

“I think it’s called _the Silmarillion,_ ” Max says, voice a little harder than it normally would be, still. God, he forgets sometimes that she and Billy aren’t biologically related; they’re so fucking alike, a little prickly and always going and at full intensity _all the goddamn time_. 

“Yeah, sure,” El agrees, waving her hand like whatever. “Are you and Kali really gonna play street hockey this summer?”

“Yeah, I mean, Steve has to teach Billy anyways, so he can just teach Kali and whoever else wants to learn at the same time, right, Steve?” Max hasn’t exactly run this plan by him, but he’d been halfway planning on it anyways, so.

“I guess,” Steve says half-heartedly, and then, when Max leans up to poke his neck where he’s ticklish, “Yeah, yeah, sure!”

* * *

Billy gets to Steve’s first. He’s already gone by the hardware store, but there’s still no spackle, and Billy’ll take any chance he gets to spend alone with Steve right now. He’s been working like nobody’s business, getting all his ducks in a row. He’s got another job interview tomorrow, this one at the pool. He’s a strong swimmer, and two weeks ago when he had found out Hawkins Parks and Rec was gonna be hiring, he’d looked up the lifeguard exam thing, practiced it all in Steve’s pool as Steve watched, wide-eyed and a little lascivious. 

If he gets the job, it’ll be easy at least; he’s a hell of a lot more comfortable in the water than most of these landlocked motherfuckers, and all he’ll probably have to do most of the time is blow his whistle and get a _great_ goddamn tan. Hutch has already agreed to let him work mornings and evenings at the shop, so that’s taken care of, and Max is just as much of a water baby as he is, so he’ll get to see plenty of her at the pool. It’s honestly, like, the perfect solution. Now, all he has to do is get the damn job.

There’s a knock at the driver’s side window, and when Billy pulls himself out of his thoughts, Steve’s there, smiling wide and easy. He points at the window like _roll it down_ and when Billy does, Steve busts out his best Hopper impersonation. 

“I’m, ah, gonna need to see your license and registration,” he drawls, right hand adjusting an imaginary hat.

“Why’d you pull me over, Officer Harrington?” Billy asks all wide-eyed and innocent. He knows it drives Steve a little bit _crazy_ when he acts like he’s some blushing virgin, and he doesn’t figure Steve would blame him for wanting to blow off a little steam. 

“Well, Mr. Hargrove,” Steve sighs like he’s satisfied to have caught a career criminal or some shit, “It’s illegal to have an ass like _that,_ didn't you know?” This is probably one of the _weirdest_ ways they’ve flirted, other than the time that Billy had realized he and Steve would get a bonus to their armor in D&D if they were married and standing close enough to each other and had seduced Steve’s character in game without telling him about it first. (All the kids had been grossed out enough to stop for the night, right in the middle of a campaign. Billy’s character _still_ kisses Steve’s character’s hand before he goes into battle, and Mike gets all grossed out every time. It’s amazing.)

“Oh, _no,_ Officer, _whatever_ shall I do, I can’t get another ticket,” Billy half-wails, and Steve’s eyes flash with amusement and arousal. 

“Well, hon, if you’ll come in to the station with me, I figure we can _work something out,_ ” Steve rasps, jerking his thumb at the house behind them. Billy can’t help but laugh, and Steve breaks, too.

“For real, come in, we can take a nap or get stoned or, uh, _do whatever,_ ” Steve says, blushing a little. Billy hasn’t gotten his hands on Steve in too long, really, and he’s _absolutely_ willing to _do whatever_ with him while they’ve got a spare moment to themselves. Billy rolls up his window, pops open his door. 

“Race you to the bed,” Billy says, right before he takes off towards Steve’s front door. Steve’s a half-step behind him the whole way, catches up when Billy can’t get his key in the lock fast enough and crowds close, breathing hot on the nape of Billy’s neck and curling an arm around Billy’s shoulders. 

Once the door’s open ( _finally_ ), Steve pushes past him, barrels up the stairs like he’s running for his life. 

“Babe, lemme suck you off,” he says over his shoulder, and Billy can’t get up the stairs after him fast enough. Steve’s gotten leaps and bounds better at giving head than he had been the first time, not that he’d even been that bad, really. 

Steve’s already down to his underwear when Billy gets into the room. Billy follows suit, kicking off his jeans and throwing his shirt into a corner. 

“God, baby,” Billy says, reeling Steve in for a kiss, “I love you like fucking _crazy,_ you know that?” Steve pulls away for a second, smiles, starts to press hot, open-mouthed kisses to Billy’s neck. 

“I know,” he says all smug, and leans in to suck at the spot under Billy’s ear he knows drives Billy _insane._ Billy walks him backwards toward the bed, climbs on top of him when Steve falls back against the mattress, pins Steve’s wrists to the bed gently and kisses him fucking _senseless._

Steve’s said he likes it, when Billy takes a little more control, when Billy holds him down and presses barely-there fingertip bruises into his thighs or his hips or his upper arms, when Billy leaves bitemarks up his inner thighs or down his chest. Billy’s more than happy to oblige, even if he _is_ a little nervous to try to tie Steve up like Steve’s asked him to once or twice. They haven’t even actually fucked yet; he’s gotten to slip a few heavily lubed fingers inside Steve, just to get him used to the feeling, and Steve’s fingers are a goddamn _gift_ when they’re tucked inside him, but he’s been so fucking worried about Max and everything that they haven’t gone as fast as they both want to. It’s kind of nice, honestly, not having to worry about all that stuff too. 

Mark had given him about eighty thousand lectures when he was still in Cali about how to make sure nobody tried to pressure him into anything, about the researchers who were pretty sure that anal was a big part of why so many guys were getting sick, about all the terrifying adult bullshit Billy hadn’t appreciated at the time but is _so goddamn thankful for_ now. He’d called Mark last week, just to keep him updated on everything going on, and somehow Steve had come up and Mark had given him _so much advice_ about how to make both of their first times feel good and Billy had blushed for days, just thinking about it. Axel keeps trying to give him unsolicited sex advice too, but Billy’s pretty sure Axel’s just fucking with him; surely _nobody_ is stupid enough to just try to, like, _shove it in_ without lube or prep or anything, _right?_

Steve’s squirming under him, rolling his hips up to meet Billy’s and making those choked-off moans Billy can’t get enough of. He pulls his wrists free, rolls them over and pushes Billy’s shoulders down flat on the bed, has this heated look in his eyes like he’s _hungry_ for Billy. 

“Stay still,” Steve murmurs, slides down to press a biting kiss to Billy’s navel, the ridge of his hip, the almost-ticklish skin of his inner thigh. He licks up Billy’s shaft, eyes flashing up at him when Billy groans low and quiet, then takes Billy into his blood-hot mouth and _sucks._ Billy can’t help but buck up, just a little, chasing the sensation, and Steve pulls back, nips at his thigh in warning. 

“I _said_ be still, right?” Steve asks, voice already a little hoarse with arousal. Billy huffs out an apologetic breath, and apparently that’s enough for Steve; he takes Billy back in his mouth again, mouth working as he bobs up and down. 

Billy has to scrabble at the sheets for purchase, needs _something_ to hold on to, and Steve reaches up to free one hand from its grip, wind Billy’s fingers through his hair. Billy’s shaking, he can tell, a little overwhelmed by the suction and the heat and really just _Steve,_ but he manages to pet at Steve’s hair anyways, in awe of Steve as he always is. Steve hums happily, and the vibration makes arousal thrum through his veins, brings him so close that he makes a high, half-panicked sound to warn Steve. He can almost _feel_ Steve grinning around his dick like the cat with the canary, and Steve rubs soothingly at Billy’s flank, hums again, and Billy’s _done,_ toes clenching as he rides out his orgasm. 

When he can breathe again, he runs his hands through Steve’s hair, pulls at his shoulders to bring him back up. He flips them again, slots a thigh between Steve’s leg for him to rut against, kisses Steve half-breathless, doesn’t even really mind the bitter taste of himself in Steve’s mouth. Steve’s moaning again, those little punched-out noises that mean he’s getting close, and Billy gets his hand under Steve, gropes his ass to urge him on, faster and harder. 

“I--I--Billy, _fuck,_ ” Steve whines, voice a little thready, and pulls Billy closer with a hand on his lower back, rolls his hips up fast and hard and spills between them. Billy blankets him, lets Steve come back to himself slowly like he likes even though they’re in danger of getting stuck together with sweat and come. 

“‘M _hot,_ ” Steve grumbles after a few minutes, shoving at Billy’s shoulder. He flops off of Steve, pushes his bangs out of his face where they’re a fucking mess. 

“Don’t fall asleep,” Billy warns him, reaches out to pinch his nipple, just to feel him squirm. “We gotta go pick the X-Girls up here in a minute.” Steve groans, rolls onto his side to face Billy.

“This is the first time I’ve gotten to touch you in _forever,_ let me bask in the afterglow or whatever for, like, _one second._ ” Steve’s always a little more _soft_ after an orgasm, stupidly cuddly even when it’s a million degrees and they’re both gross. Billy’s rarely sleepy after he comes; usually, he’s more riled up than ever, ready to _go,_ to _do something,_ but he’s willing to compromise for Steve, willing to let Steve curl into his chest and breathe hot and moist into his neck for a while before he gets too antsy.

“Thanks,” Billy finds himself saying. “I, uh, I needed a second to myself, but I wasn’t gonna be an asshole and just, like, ditch them, you know?”

“Listen,” Steve murmurs, half-dozing but still mostly focused on what Billy’s saying. “I don’t think any of them have been this far _in the boonies_ or whatever, and I’m sure they needed some time to decompress, too.”

“Mm, you’re probably right,” Billy muses, distracted by the way the late-afternoon sunlight coming through Steve’s blinds is throwing the little moles across his back into sharp focus. “Hey, wanna go to Sam Goody with me later this week? They finally said they’ve got _Little Creatures_ back in stock, and I still need the tape for the car.”

“Yeah, I need another copy of the new Prince album, Max stole mine,” Steve yawns. “Are you sure we don’t have time for a nap?”

“Wish we did,” Billy says, totally honestly. It might be too hot to get in any good sleep, but he’s tired from running all over Hawkins trying to get his shit together and he’s not enough of an idiot to turn down any alone time with Steve he can get right now. “But no, it’s already almost five and we gotta be at Joyce’s at five thirty, _with the X-Girls,_ so let’s go.” He pulls away from Steve and sits up, starts looking for wherever he threw his shirt earlier while Steve rolls around in the sheets groaning about having to get up.

He isn’t sure exactly whether the girls like the group nickname or not; it’s better than X-Men, according to Kali at least, and a hell of a lot less confusing than saying _the girls_ and having to clarify whether you’re talking about El-and-Max _the girls_ or Kali-and-Ten-and-Anne _the girls_ or both. The night’s probably gonna be a long one, or at least a tiring one. The Party’s been up Billy and Steve’s _asses_ for the last two weeks, desperate for _intel,_ as Dustin keeps saying, and neither of them have been particularly forthcoming, partly because neither of them really knows how to explain Ten and Anne and partly because it’s _so goddamn funny_ to hear Mike get all worked up about not having enough information to go off of. 

“Here’s your shirt, princess,” Billy says, throwing the clothing in question directly at Steve’s face. 

“Thanks anyway, shug,” Steve says, once he sputters for a minute about how he was _right in the middle of a sentence_ and it’s _rude_ to interrupt someone by _throwing something at them, obviously, jeez._

“Oh, do you know if Jonathan and Nancy got the jobs at the paper?” Steve’s in the bathroom now, fixing his hair where it’s clearly been fucked with. “I totally forgot to ask when I dropped off Max earlier.” 

“No idea,” Billy says, half-honestly. “I think Joyce said they’d gotten an offer or something, but I don’t remember exactly.” Joyce had said that they’d both gotten offered internships, but that they had had some fight about it or something--Billy hadn’t really cared enough to ask too many questions. Nancy’s already told him she’s not gonna be doing enough hours there to take away from teaching the girls, and that’s good enough for him. 

“I’ve heard the guys who work there are assholes, so I wouldn’t be surprised if they didn’t hire Nancy just ‘cause she’s a girl, regardless of how goddamn brilliant she is, it’s _bullshit,_ ” Steve goes on as he comes back into the bedroom to fuss with Billy’s lapels, make sure his saint’s medal is sitting right. Billy pulls him in for another kiss, has to fight the urge to push him back onto the bed and fuck around some more, timing be damned. 

“Let’s go before we get ourselves in trouble,” Steve pants when Billy pulls back, clearly having had the same temptation. “Dustin and Mike will string us up by our _guts_ if we’re late.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi pals! I know I promised you a sexy, sexy job interview, and it's absolutely coming--next chapter! I got to writing the time jump and the road trip and this chapter got away from me a little bit. I'm also not the most happy with this chapter, tbh, but that's probably because of the time skip. If anybody needs clarification for anything, _please_ don't hesitate to let ya girl know!!
> 
>  
> 
> **Fun Notes**
> 
>   * The title of this chapter comes from the seminal classic, _Grease_ , more specifically from _Summer Lovin'_. I try not to repeat songs for chapter titles, but I may or may not use this fuckin' jam again. (This jam is pretty misogynistic, but it is still a fuckin' bop.)
>   * Other music references from this chapter: Prince's 1986 album _Parade_ , which is....so good. (It includes one of the best popular Prince songs, _Kiss_!) The Talking Heads' _Little Creatures_ which is SUCH A GOOD ALBUM. Other assorted references to Dolly (as usual), Madonna (so good!!). 
>   * Okay, so the reason for me shoehorning [this INCREDIBLE roadside attraction](https://www.roadsideamerica.com/tip/2861) into this chapter is because I do firmly believe that at some point in your life if you live in the States and take a road trip, it is not complete without stopping at at least one tourist trap. It's, like, the law.
>   * If you aren't a hockey fan, as I suspect many of you aren't, [here's a killer article](https://thehockeynews.com/news/article/an-oral-history-of-the-broad-street-bully-era-philadelphia-flyers) about the Philadelphia Flyers' reign of hockey terror in the '70s when they were known as the Broad Street Bullies, hence Max's nickname.
>   * In case anyone was wondering, yes! The Terry Pratchett reference _was_ purposeful! I'm in the middle of reading _Good Omens_ and the Amazon miniseries was SO GOOD OMG. _Good Omens_ didn't come out until 1990, though, so Austen's deeply enamored with the Discworld series, which I've heard is also amazing.
>   * I _really_ wanted to write a scene of Billy teaching Steve how to _actually_ clean, but I didn't structure the chapter that way. Instead, please imagine stressed-af Billy trying not to murder his loving boyf, half because he likes Steve and half because blood's a _bitch_ to get out of carpet.
>   * Also, I'm basically gonna be saying FUCK S3 CANON except for, like, relatively minor details, so don't worry, no possession here, I promise!
> 

> 
> **In the next installment: a sexy, sexy job interview! A big ol' found family cookout!**


	3. the world was moving, she was right there with it (and she was)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the X Girls meet the gang, Billy has a job interview, and there's a whole lot of background pining.

Austen’s pretty sure she’s never been this far out of a big city, at least not since she’s been old enough to, like, store retrievable memories. It’s fucking _wild,_ how there’s trees all over the place and space between the houses and, like, people have _yards?_ Plus, there’s no goddamn sidewalks, which is kind of annoying, honestly. How is she gonna get around town? She’s not gonna sit around and wait for Billy or Steve or one of the real adults to be not-busy when she wants to go to the library or the store or whatever, and even though she’s already talked to Patti about how to act around a bunch of uppity-ass white people from the middle of nowhere, she’s not super excited about just, like, walking around a small town she doesn't know _alone,_ you know?

She’d asked Kali about it earlier, while they were unpacking their stuff in Billy’s house--trailer--whatever the fuck. _Fuck if I know,_ Kali’d said, grouchy from not being able to sleep on the ride from Chicago, _we’ll just be studying all the time anyways, so does it matter?_ She and Axel and Patti and Steve-and-Billy (who, she’s learning, are together just about every second they can be; it’s kind of cute and a little gross, but, like, in the way couples probably should be, she’s pretty sure) had stayed up half the night last night, gossiping and drinking and talking about how to manage Anne and herself, once they thought the two of them were asleep.

Ten isn’t sure if she’s really happy about being managed, but then again, she hasn’t had a really serious freakout (a _triggered traumatic memory,_ she can hear her therapist Miguel correcting in the back of her mind, but she’s not gonna tiptoe around it--it’s a freakout and she knows it) in months, and she isn’t complaining. Axel doesn’t watch _The A-Team_ in the house anymore, not since he noticed her flinching at every explosion, and he hasn’t asked why. They don’t usually ask why, and it’s kind of nice. 

She knows Kali went through some shit after she got away, and El lived in a goddamn _forest_ for a while before she found the Chief, but it’s different somehow. They didn’t have to deal with shitty foster house after shitty foster house, didn’t have to go to school and hide the bruises and cigarette burns and act like everything was normal, didn’t have to learn how to forge halfway-decent paperwork from the original copies she’d filched off the CPS worker’s desk or convince any wide-eyed idealistic social workers they were staying in a home where they were well cared for while they were sleeping on the bus and taking showers at the Y. 

That’s all done now, though; she’s got Patti, close enough to a mother to matter, and a family that doesn’t much look like they’re related, and she’s spending the summer getting ready to go to _real school,_ and she’s about to go meet a bunch of people who probably won’t be freaked out when she stops in the middle of a sentence and sees a glimpse of what’s to come. She’s as close to normal as she’s gonna get right now, and it’s only a little bit terrifying. 

“Billy-and-Steve are here,” Kali yells from the living room. “Let’s go, yinz.” Austen’s not sure how she’s going to deal with having a whole bunch of teenagers in the same room, not sure if it’s gonna be the same kind of sizing each other up and posturing that happens in group homes, so she grabs _The Neverending Story,_ just in case. It’s kind of a childish book, really, but it’s one of her favorites anyway. 

They all pile into the back of Billy’s loud-as-hell Camaro, Anne squished into the middle. The radio’s up loud enough to avoid conversation, which is probably a good thing. Anne’s surprisingly social, all things considered, but Austen knows she and Kali have a much lower threshold for talking to people, even when it’s people they like.

“I’m surprised a guy like you is into The Go-Go’s,” Kali leans up to say, smirking, and Billy glances back at her, surprise clear in his face. 

“Are you kidding? The Go-Go’s are _punk as hell_ , I mean, they’re like the _only_ all-girl rock band that hasn’t let the music industry fuck them over, like, that’s _so sick,_ ” Billy goes off, and Steve groans like he’s heard this rant one too many times. Kali’s got that look on her face she gets when she goads Patti into throwing a fit about the way the CDC’s handling everything or gets Axel going about how punk isn’t dead. She’s such a goddamn shit-stirrer, but, like, Ten wouldn’t have her any other way, so. 

Billy’s still singing Belinda Carlisle’s praises by the time they pull up in front of this run-down looking house. It’s obvious that whoever lives here _cares,_ like, there’s a fresh coat of paint in the front door, and Austen can tell somebody’s been fixing up the porch railing by the new wood, but it’s still definitely not a _nice_ house. It looks _well-loved,_ the way some of Kali’s band t-shirts look, the ones Austen loves to filch from her closet because they’ve been washed so much they’re soft as hell. There’s a police truck (which, like, they’re definitely not in the city anymore), a black sedan that looks like nothing so much as a hearse, and a beat-up Pinto parked haphazardly in the gravel driveway, and as Billy turns the car off, a literal _swarm_ of kids comes pouring out of the front door, a few adults trailing out behind.

“HEY, LOSERS,” Max yells as they all pile out of the car, waving all crazy like she didn’t just see them two hours ago; El’s right behind her, shy smile on her face as she holds some boy’s hand, and then a few more boys Austen doesn’t know, by looks anyway. El calls at least once a week to ramble on speaker about what she’s been doing since the last time she called, so Austen feels like she knows Mike and Dustin and Lucas and Will and Max and Billy and Chief Hopper pretty well at this point, like they’re characters in a book she’s read six or seven times.

There’s a lady with wide eyes, the kind authors call _liquid,_ and a huge, welcoming smile standing on the porch--Joyce, probably; she couldn’t look less like Patti if she _tried,_ but she exudes the same mom kind of energy that Patti does. The Chief looks a lot more rested and a lot less chiseled than she’d imagined, more like he’s been eating regular meals and taking naps than the harried-looking Chicago cops she’s used to. His Hawaiian shirt is _awful._

Jonathan, she assumes, looks like he hasn’t slept in six months, all tousled and rumpled with this sad little look in his eye. He reminds her of the guy from the Smiths, the one Kali says is _kind of a dick but, like, a musical genius anyways._

“Did you guys get all unpacked?” Max is asking Kali, but before anyone can answer, she starts yelling in Kali's direction about street hockey. Austen likes Max a lot, even if she is a little bit dramatic. 

“This is Mike,” El says, pulling this beanpole kid forward by the hand she’s holding. He’s clearly hitting puberty pretty hard, hands too big for his body like a great dane puppy’s paws, polo shirt straining across his thin shoulders. 

“Nice to meet you, we’re all so--” he says, putting his hand out for Austen to shake, but the kid next to him elbows him out of the way, talking over him. 

“We’re SO EXCITED you guys’re here,” the kid says, grabbing at her hand. His palm is a little sweaty, and the lisp, coupled with the excited yelling and the ugly baseball hat, helps her figure out that he’s Dustin. He’s got this big-ass goofy grin on his face and it’s so _cute_ she barely even notices the lack of front teeth. ( _He has this thing where his baby teeth haven’t grown in yet,_ Austen hears El saying in the back of her mind, _he used to get teased about it but then I broke this kid’s arm and now it’s fine._ ) 

“Hi, _I’m_ Dustin, and _you_ are Austen and Anne. Did you guys get to see the mall on the way here? It’s _so cool,_ like, there’s a movie theater in it and an ice cream parlor and, like, a bunch of other stuff, it’s awesome.” His energy is so infectious that Austen feels herself smiling back at him, all stupid and soft.

“No, we didn’t yet,” Anne says when she doesn’t say anything for a beat too long; everyone’s used to filling in for Austen when she catches a glimpse by this point. “I wanna go, though, I’ve never been to a mall.”

“You’ve _never been to a mall?_ ” Dustin squawks. Austen finally realizes she’s still holding his hand and drops it like it’s burned her. Anne’s spouting off about how she hasn’t _ever_ done _anything_ before Ten can regain Dustin’s attention.

“I really liked that movie,” a quiet voice says next to her, and she jumps a little. “Oh, sorry, I’m Will.” He doesn’t put his hand out, which is a blessing, but he does give her an awkward little wave before he gestures to the book she’s got clutched in her arms. 

“The movie was pretty good, but the book is _so much better,_ ” Austen says. “If you wanna borrow it, you can, I just brought it in case I got bored.” She passes it over to him and he takes it, reads the little blurb on the back. 

“You have to promise to take care of it,” she blurts out, and feels herself blush a little. “I mean, not that you _wouldn’t,_ but--”

“It's fine, I get it,” he answers, smiling at her. “I can’t _stand_ it when Mike borrows my comics, he always creases a page and then it’s not in perfect condition anymore.” Austen wrinkles her nose in distaste.

“Kiddos,” Joyce calls, with that _remember that you're not feral and I taught you manners_ tone in her voice, ‘Why don’t you invite our guests inside, maybe ask if they’d like something to drink, it’s hot out and they were in a car all day.” As they all start towards the house, another car comes up the lane, pulls into the driveway. 

“Somebody’ll bring me home later, bye, Mom,” a dark-skinned kid who must be Lucas, bandanna tied around his forehead and backpack slung over one shoulder, says over his shoulder as he shuts the car door. The car idles for a second before the passenger side front window rolls down. 

“Lucas, I taught you better manners than that,” his mom yells out the open window. “Introduce your new _friends,_ please.” The car’s close enough to their big group that Austen can see her clearly, sizing them up a little. She’s beautiful, all graceful and sophisticated, and Austen’s almost intimidated.

“Ugh, Ma,” he complains, but the dark look she shoots him (eerily reminiscent of Patti’s, Ten notices) makes him reconsider _real_ quick, grumbling through their introductions. “Okay, this is Kali, who you met when she was here for Thanksgiving, and this is Anne and that’s Austen.” He points to each of them, then turns to whisper something in Max’s ear that makes her giggle. 

“Hello, ladies,” Lucas’ mom says, voice smooth and rich. “I’m Mrs. Sinclair. Let me know if you need anything, I’m always here to help.” 

“ _Mom,_ let’s _go,_ ” the girl in the backseat sighs, “I told Sissy and Hannah that I’d meet them at the mall _fifteen minutes ago,_ jeez.”

“ _Erica,_ enough of that attitude,” Mrs. Sinclair warns. She gives them a last smile and a wave, rolls up the window halfway and then seems to remember something, rolls it back down. “And Austen, if you need somebody to do your hair or get you some of the good hair stuff, I’ll get you taken care of. Billy might be a bit of a dandy, but he doesn’t have much of a knack for hair like ours.” She winks and Austen smiles back at her, nods in agreement. 

“Sorry, my mom’s kind of a control freak,” Lucas says once she’s pulled away, putting his hand out. “I’m Lucas, nice to meet you guys.” Austen shakes his hand, a little overwhelmed, but Kali just slaps at his hand like he’s going for a sideways high five; Anne cracks up. 

“C’mon, I want lemonade,” Max goads everybody, and they all move towards the house. It’s very _brown_ inside, but it’s clearly a really _homey_ home, if that makes any sense; all the chairs and stuff look squishy and comfortable, and there’s a bunch of drawings and photos and stuff hung up on the fridge. 

The world spins a little faster for a second, like it always does when Austen gets a glimpse. _Kali and a pretty girl with a heart-shaped face and wide eyes sharing a cigarette on the Byers’ porch at dusk. “I just thought he would_ get it, _you know?” the other girl says, blinking fast like she’s trying not to cry. Kali reaches out a hand to comfort her and_ \--Ten’s back. Dustin’s holding out a glass of lemonade, smile fading from his face a little. 

“Sorry, what?” she asks, shaking her head a little to clear the fog that comes with a glimpse. “I, uh, I got distracted for a second.” Dustin squints at her, leans in with a calculating look on his face. 

“Did you just _have one?_ ” he asks, quieter than she would have thought, and then, as if she doesn’t know what he’s asking about, he whispers even softer. “A _vision,_ I mean.”

“Oh, uh, yeah, it’s not, like, a big deal,” she tries to brush him off. It’s weird, having somebody she doesn’t know that well know something about her that she usually has to keep this huge secret. Mostly, people just think she has something wrong with her when they don’t know, and all the people who do know are all so used to it by now that they don’t get excited about it like he is.

“Like _hell_ it isn’t,” he says, pressing the sweating glass of lemonade into her hand with wide eyes. “That’s _so cool,_ it’s _so cool_ that I know people who can do _telekinesis_ and _tell the future_ and _heal people by magic,_ holy shit. What did you see, or, wait, I don’t know if you’re allowed to tell me or whatever.” He’s clearly one of those people who doesn’t think about what they’re gonna say before they open their mouth, and Austen’s surprised to find she doesn’t hate him for it. 

“I mean, there’s not, like, _laws_ I have to follow,” she explains, blushing a little. It’s almost embarrassing, the way all his attention is focused on her, but she kind of likes it, too. “I don’t usually tell people unless it’s important, and usually it isn’t. You’d be surprised how much people don’t like knowing what’s gonna happen before it does.”

“Ahhh,” he sighs, nodding like he knows what the hell he’s talking about. She’s half-surprised that he doesn’t stroke an imaginary beard or something. “You’re like Cassandra.” She’s shocked into laughing; it’s a pretty accurate description, honestly, and she already knew he’s a nerd but she wouldn't have guessed that he's a Greek mythology nerd. 

“Yeah, exactly,” she agrees, taking a drink of her lemonade to hide her smile. “Is this everybody, or do I have another sixty-five people to meet?”

“Well, Nancy isn’t back, which is kinda weird. Mike said she was here earlier but she left cause she got mad,” he starts, then, seeing the worried look she must have on her face, “She _promised_ she’d be back to meet you guys though. Oh, and Clem’s gonna be helping Nancy teach you stuff and she’s our friend and everything, but she had to babysit her little brothers tonight, so she’s not coming.” Austen nods, distracted by piecing together what she knows about Nancy and Jonathan and the girl almost crying from the glimpse.

“Hey, can I call you Aus?” he asks out of nowhere, and normally she doesn’t love being called Aus, prefers her full name or Ten, but the way air hisses through the space where his teeth would be is kind of nice.

“Yeah, okay,” she says, and before she can think of anything smart to say, Max bounds over, pulls at her wrist to drag her away. 

“C’mon, I told Mike what you said about maximizing offensive spells as a druid and he says you’re wrong,” Max is saying, and Austen’s honestly pretty excited to end Mike’s reign of dungeon master tyranny, so she goes.

* * *

Austen and Anne are having a grand old time by the time Hopper’s pulling the burgers off the grill; Will’s got out a stack of comics for Anne, explaining the best order to read them in, and she’s _so excited_ about the art style and reading about all the X-Men ( _and X-Women,_ Billy heard Will explain earlier). Lucas and Austen are on one side of an argument about the physics of magic missile and why it’s _horseshit_ that you can’t dodge it with anything but, like, a _level eight spell,_ and, as usual, Mike’s on the other side of the argument, El backing him up mostly because she’s nice. 

“Nancy and Jonathan had a big fight earlier, she left all pissed off with that look on her face like she’s ready to shoot somebody,” Max had murmured in Billy and Steve’s direction earlier. Steve’s in Jonathan’s room with him, hashing out the details, because he’s just that good of a guy. Billy isn’t, though, and he has a sneaking suspicion that he’s gonna hear all about it from Nancy the next time he sees her, so he’s helping Hopper keep track of burgers and hot dogs and buns on the back porch instead. Kali’s out with them, ferrying food back and forth to Joyce while Billy’s arguing with Hopper about medium and medium well, just because it pisses Hopper off a little and it’s funny. 

“That’s the last of it, then dinner’s ready,” Kali says, handing Hopper a bag of hot dog buns to toast on the grill. “Also, what’s the deal with Jonathan?”

“Uh, Joyce said that he and Nance maybe broke up,” Hopper tells the grill, avoiding their eyes like it’s gonna get him out of gossiping. “Said they’ve been fighting about the newspaper thing, apparently the guys at the paper were assholes to Nancy and she didn’t take the internship, but Jonathan did and Nancy’s mad about it, I guess.” Hop’s just as goddamn nosy as any of them, so there’s no reason for him to be all weird about it, but whatever, Billy guesses he’s trying to be the bigger person or whatever, _model good behavior for the kids_ like Joyce keeps telling him to.

“That sucks,” Kali muses; the look on her face is weirdly charged, like she’s trying to keep something out of her expression. “Especially since everybody’s so close, it seems like.”

“Well, _Steve_ got over it when she cheated on him with Jonathan, something about how when you have this kind of secret to keep it’s hard not to get over the little stuff,” Billy says after a minute of silence. “I mean, if they _are_ actually broken up, sure, it’ll be weird for a while, but it’s not like they’ll have to see each other all the time anyways, the kids can ride their bikes around now that it’s summer, so they don’t need rides everywhere.” 

He doesn’t really care one way or the other, especially given how little Jonathan seemed to care about how much it fucked Steve up, seeing him with Nancy all the fucking time. Jonathan’s a cool dude, quiet with good taste in music and a decent weed hookup, but Billy’d pick Nancy over him any day, especially with all the work she’s doing for the X Girls this summer.

Dinner’s loud, but fun; El and Mike both have to eat one handed since apparently they can’t go _twenty minutes_ without holding hands (gross and unnecessary). Steve sits on the floor to eat, his back to Billy’s knees, once he takes a plate to Jonathan and Will’s shared room. The girls all seem to be settling in okay, which helps alleviate some of the stress Billy hadn’t even realized he was holding. Max is talking Kali’s ear off about hockey, because she’s got a one track mind all the goddamn time. 

“So, Billy, honey, have you heard back about any jobs?” Joyce asks, wiping mustard off the corner of her mouth. 

“Yeah, nothing for sure yet but I’m doing a final interview at the pool tomorrow, so cross your fingers for me, I guess,” he answers, and Steve curls his free hand around Billy’s ankle, grounds him with the simple touch. “When does Loretta come back to town?”

“Oh, great! I’ll be sending you good luck. Loretta comes in next week, Tuesday afternoon I think? I wrote it down somewhere,” Joyce answers, makes a move to get up and go check, but Hopper puts a hand on her knee to stop her and she plops back down on the couch. 

“Tuesday at two-thirty,” Hopper confirms, hand still on her knee, and Joyce smiles that grateful, endeared smile she saves for Hopper, the one that says _thanks for putting up with me_. Their relationship, or lack of one, is a constant source of debate among Nancy and Steve and Billy; Jonathan usually abstains, says it’s gross thinking about his mom dating. Hop brings Joyce the meatloaf special from the diner during their shared dinner break on Wednesday nights and Joyce keeps Hopper’s preferred kind of coffee in her kitchen cabinet, but they both deny it when anybody asks. It’s _exhausting,_ watching them orbit around each other, and Billy hopes he and Steve weren’t _this_ dramatic before they got their shit together. Nancy has assured him, on multiple occasions, that they were, but there’s just no way. 

“Mom, you got _The Goonies_ from the Family Video, right?” Will pops up to ask. “Anne and Austen haven’t seen it yet, we _gotta_ watch it.”

“Yeah, honey, it’s on the counter. You and Max promised to wash the dishes though, go do that first,” Joyce says, and all the Party kids start picking up plates and taking them into the kitchen. They’ve all learned to help each other with chores and stuff, even if Mike complains about it the whole goddamn time. Dustin was the one who started it, said that they’d all get to go do whatever it was they wanted to do faster if they all helped. 

Once all the kids are settled in front of the TV, Austen jumping at the gunshots and El squeezing her hand to soothe her, Billy jerks his head at Kali and Steve like _wanna go for a smoke?_ When they file out the front door, there’s a huge, _ugly_ station wagon, wooden side panels and all, in the driveway, and Nancy’s sitting in the driver’s seat, looking up at the house. Billy waves her over, and after a minute, she shuts off the car and gets out, glances around like she’s waiting for Jonathan to pop up out of nowhere. 

“He’s moping in his room,” Steve calls, quiet enough that no one in the house can hear them, and Nancy comes up to the porch. 

“ _Please_ tell me somebody’s gonna give me a goddamn cigarette,” she begs once she reaches them. “Today’s been a _nightmare._ ” Her face is all swollen like she’s been crying, and she looks exhausted. Billy passes her a menthol, and Kali holds out a lighter, leans over to light it for her after Nancy fumbles with it a few times. Nancy takes a drag, lifts herself up to perch on the newly-reinforced railing Hopper put up last weekend, leans her head back to exhale. 

“The guys at the paper said _the only thing I’d be good for is making lunches and pouring coffee,_ ” she says in a steely voice after a minute. “So I didn’t take the fucking internship, because you couldn’t pay me enough money to fetch decaf while some asshole plays grab-ass. _Jonathan,_ though, _he_ doesn’t object to working for a bunch of _chauvinistic pigs,_ apparently, because he took the fucking darkroom position and when they asked why I didn’t say yes, he said it was because _I couldn’t handle it._ ”

“Jesus,” Billy says after a few seconds of shocked silence. “No wonder you need a ciggie, Wheeler.” 

“ _I_ fucking need one after that, Christ,” Kali agrees, puts out a hand for his pack, but Nancy passes her the lit cigarette she’s holding instead, grimaces a wordless apology for the ring of neon pink lipstick on the filter. Kali takes it, eyes flicking between Nancy’s mouth and the cigarette, and pulls on it, passes it back carefully.

“Yeah, life’s a bitch and then you die, I guess,” Nancy says, waving away the thought with the hand holding the cigarette. “On the bright side, my Aunt Judy got a new car, so I inherited that fucking boat,” she gestures to the station wagon, “all paid off and everything. It’ll make it a hell of a lot easier to take the kids around though, now that Jonathan’s not gonna be giving me and Mike rides.”

“If you bring it into the shop tomorrow after four, I’ll give you a tune up,” Billy offers; he can’t offer much else, other than: “I’ll bash Jonathan’s teeth in for you too, if you really want.” Steve smacks him on the chest, plucks his cigarette from his hand and takes his own drag before he hands it back.

“You _can’t,_ the kids _just_ stopped making jokes about you beating me up,” Steve protests, and Nancy laughs at the idea, this ugly, bitter, half-choked thing that makes Billy’s stomach clench with empathy.

“I just thought he’d _get it,_ you know?” she whispers, all in a rush, and Kali reaches out a hand to rub Nancy’s upper arm all soothing. Nancy passes her the cigarette, murmurs, “blow the smoke away from my hair, my mom hates the smell.” Kali nods, hand still gentle on Nancy’s arm as she exhales upwards. Billy gets distracted for a second thinking about whether all girls are born knowing that trick, then makes himself snap back to reality. 

“I’m sorry he doesn’t,” Steve offers, and Nancy gives him a watery smile, wipes under her eyes with shaky hands. 

“Guys _suck,_ ” she manages to say before her voice breaks on a sob. Billy reaches out a hand to her, and she takes it, squeezes it hard until the bones grind together a little. Kali’s got one arm curled around her at this point, trading the cigarette back and forth, and Nancy shakes apart for a second, cries almost silently. Joyce and Hopper slip out the front door, pulling it to behind them, and Joyce realizes what’s going on immediately.

Hopper shoots Billy a look like _oh god what do we do_ and Billy looks back at him like _fuck if I know_ and Joyce very gently elbows Billy out of the way, wraps one arm around Nancy’s shoulders. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Joyce’s hand rubbing Kali’s arm, mothering anybody who’ll sit still for long enough.

“Hey, girly-girly,” she says all gentle, and Nancy lets out another little sob, turns to let Joyce wrap her in a full hug. “I’m sorry Jonathan’s being an idiot.” Nancy laughs again, wet and a little gross, and Joyce squeezes her tight for a second. 

“You know you’re still welcome in this house any time, right? Any time you need me, for anything at all, I’ll be here,” Joyce continues, and Nancy’s shoulders shake harder as she nods, face hidden in Joyce’s shoulder. 

“I like the new car,” Hopper says, awkward and a little too loud, and Joyce shoots him a little glare over her shoulder like _why are you_ like this _you Neanderthal?_ He puts his hands up as if to apologize, and she turns back around, smoothes her hands over Nancy’s back. 

“Thanks,” Nancy manages to say, all muffled, and everyone laughs a little. Hopper jerks his head at Billy and Steve like _back away slowly and we won't get hurt_ , and they make their way over to Nancy’s new car. 

“You offer to look this thing over for her yet?” Hop asks Billy, and, like, _duh,_ so he just rolls his eyes in response. “Okay, well, good. So, uh, do you two think this break-up thing’s gonna last?”

“Yeah, probably,” Steve says, a little awkward. “When I was, uh, talking to Jonathan, he said he doesn’t understand why she’s so upset, since she already has the job teaching the girls and she doesn’t need the money. I might not be the sharpest crayon in the box-- _ow,_ Billy don’t pinch me, I'm not _putting myself down_ or whatever--and even _I_ know that’s not what it’s about.” 

“Well, once Joyce hears the whole story I’m sure she’s gonna rip him a new one, but god _damn_ that boy’s missing the point right now. Do you--she’s still gonna teach the girls, right?” Hop sounds _so_ awkward, and Billy has to reckon with the reality that when El gets her heart broken, Hopper’s gonna be _absolutely no help_ and she’s gonna come crying to _him_ for solace.

“Yeah, of course,” Billy says. She’s not that kind of person, and even if she were, it’s not like she’s gonna have to see Jonathan to tutor the girls, so that’s stupid and Hop knows it. 

“Jesus Christ,” Hopper growls, “Just when I thought things were calming down around here, now I live in a goddamn teenage soap opera. You know El made me take her to the grocery store for mint chip ice cream at _eleven at night_ last night because she was having period cravings? I thought she was gonna throw me at the wall for suggesting that she just eat the vanilla we had in the freezer at the house. Teenagers are the _worst._ ”

“It’ll be fine,” Steve says, in that quietly confident tone that always makes Billy feel like everything’s gonna be okay. “Nancy’s a big girl, and she’s got Kali to help her plan her revenge if she wants it.” Hopper rubs his hand over his face like he’s trying to rub away a headache and turns abruptly, goes back inside. 

“Gotta go play chaperone to the hormonal ones,” he says over his shoulder as he walks away, and Billy stifles a laugh in the collar of Steve’s t-shirt. 

“If anyone ever sexually harasses you in the workplace, I’ll kick their ass whether you want me to or not,” he murmurs into the skin of Steve’s throat, and he can feel Steve swallow heavy. 

“As nice as the caveman sentiment is, I don’t think it’ll work like that. Oh, speaking of, my dad called yesterday as I was on my way out the door to meet up with you and the girls, he says if I’m not gonna go straight into working for his company I’ve gotta get some kind of job this summer, _learn how to do real goddamn work_ or whatever. It’s a little late in the game for getting any, like, good jobs, but I was thinking about trying to find something at the mall, so that way if you get the job at the pool the likelihood that the kids are close enough for one of us to keep an eye on at all times is that much higher.”

“Good idea, baby,” Billy says, pulling Steve’s t-shirt aside so he can press a kiss to his favorite of Steve's moles, the one at the base of Steve’s neck. Steve shivers, swats Billy’s hand away where Billy’s trying to squeeze his hand into Steve’s back pocket. 

“ _Quit,_ we’ve gotta go be nice to Nancy and she’ll make fun of me if you get me all riled up.”

“No fun,” Billy grumbles, but Steve’s right, really. It’s not like they can just ditch the kids and go find some quiet spot to make out in the car, at least not right now. Steve leads him back up to the porch and he passes Kali another cigarette, sparks up his own. 

“It’s gonna be okay, honey,” Joyce is saying, wiping the tears off Nancy’s face with her thumbs. “Really, it is.”

“I know,” Nancy agrees, sniffing. “It just sucks.” 

“Of course it does,” Joyce assures her. “Why did you come back, though, honey? If you don’t want to talk to Jonathan, I mean, which, if you do want to I guess I can go get him?”

“ _God, no,_ ” Nancy croaks frantically, and Billy has to stifle his snicker with a cough. “I said I’d come back so I could meet Ten and Anne, I don’t want them to think I’m not excited to meet them. Plus I have to take Mike home.” 

“Oh, sure,” Joyce nods, all concerned eyebrows and soft, worried mouth. “I went and peeked in on Jonathan earlier and he’s got his headphones on and he’s listening to that sad music he likes, I don’t think he’s gonna be out of his room any time soon, if you want to come in and have something to eat and watch the rest of the movie with us.”

“If you’re sure,” Nancy says, voice a little watery again, and Kali reaches out to rub little circles on her back. “Does my makeup look awful?”

“C’mere, I’ll fix your mascara,” Kali says, and Nancy lets Kali rub away the dark smudges under her eyes. 

Mike gets that look on his face like he’s swallowed a frog when he sees Nancy come in behind Billy and Steve and Kali, a little tearstained but otherwise okay. He pulls his hand out of El’s like he’s gonna come check on her or something, which is weirdly touching; Billy wouldn’t have figured Mike to be the kind of little brother who gave a shit about things like that. She shakes her head no, waves him away, and curls up on the couch. Kali sits on one side of her, all awkward like she’s afraid to touch Nancy, and Steve sits on the other side. Billy squishes onto the little bit of cushion left next to Steve, wiggles in until Steve’s half in his lap. Joyce brings over a plate of watermelon and chips and a burger she must’ve heated up on the stovetop to get the extra cheese on top to melt, and they watch the Goonies search for treasure and fight the Fratellis. After a while, once she’s done picking at the pile of chips left on her plate, Nancy’s head dips to rest on Kali’s shoulder. 

Austen flinches, almost imperceptibly, every time there’s an explosion or a gunshot or something; El’s too distracted by the movie to notice now, but Billy sees Dustin scooting a little closer to Ten every time it happens, until his pinky finger is touching hers. Dustin jumps, pretty obviously faking it, when the cheerleader girl fucks up the piano note and a part of the floor falls out. His shoulder bumps into Austen’s, and Billy watches her relax, drop her shoulders a little and wiggle to shake out the tension she’d been holding. Anne’s so caught up in the movie that her mouth’s hanging open so she looks kind of like a fish, and Max throws a bite-size chunk of watermelon into Anne’s mouth, laughs herself silly when Anne looks at her all betrayed. 

Nancy bundles Lucas and Dustin and Mike into the back of _the Squire,_ as Dustin calls the station wagon, as soon as everybody’s said their goodbyes and she’s introduced herself to Anne and Austen. The three of them squabble over who gets to sit in the jump seats until Nancy uses her teacher voice to get them to cut it out and they figure out that they can _all_ fit in the jump seats, the idiots. The muffler’s _definitely_ gonna need some work, and Billy’s already sighing to himself about staying late to work on that fucking beast tomorrow as he shuffles everybody in the car.

“Bye, kiddo,” he whispers to Max as he gives her a bear hug. “See you tomorrow, probably.” 

“Yeah, I’ll come by the shop or something, if I don’t see you before then,” she says back, squeezing him tight around the middle. 

Joyce and Hopper are loitering around the truck, talking to each other all close and, like, it’s silly that they’re both pussyfooting around each other instead of, like, _talking about it like adults,_ but it _did_ take Billy getting kidnapped and shit to get brave enough to tell Steve he wanted to date him, so, like, Billy has no room to talk, probably.

 

“Is it always this _loud_ in the countryside?” Anne asks through a giant yawn on the way home. “How’m I g’nna sleep?”

“You get used to it,” Billy says quietly; he remembers how fucking loud the trees and the cicadas and the crickets had been when he’d first come here. Kali and Austen are both already dozing in the backseat, and Steve’s doing that thing he does right before he falls asleep in the car where he watches the trees pass out the window, head bobbing until his chin touches his chest. “It becomes background noise eventually.”

“I think it’s g’nna be a good summer,” Anne says after a while, and Billy hums in agreement. He drives to Steve’s first, to drop him off, and he doesn’t think twice before he kisses Steve awake, half-carries Steve to his front door and unlocks it for him. 

“Love you, sleepyhead,” he says before he turns to go, and Steve pulls him in for another kiss in the light of the Camaro’s headlights. 

Ten and Kali both get themselves into the house on their own power, rubbing their tired eyes and yawning, but Billy has to carry Anne inside. He’s tired, too, and tomorrow’s gonna be a good day; he’s got a good feeling about it.

* * *

Colin, the guy who manages the pool, is kind of an asshole. It’s not surprising; he’s got that whole big-fish-in-a-small-pond thing going on, and he won’t stop fucking bragging about all the _poon-tang_ he’s getting now that he’s in college. It’s fucking _gross,_ the way he talks about women, but he elbows Billy as if to say _you know what I’m talkin’ about_ while they’re rinsing off before the physical part of the interview and Billy’s not stupid enough to fight him on it while he’s still trying to get the goddamn job.

Apparently, Tommy’s a strong enough swimmer to have gotten this far in the process, which is gonna be _the worst_ if Billy has to work with him directly. It’s twenty minutes in the chair, twenty minutes at the front desk in rotation with the other lifeguard during a shift, and if he has to hear Tommy laugh like a dumb chucklefuck at all Colin’s sexist bullshit all day, every day, he’ll actually lose his shit. 

“Yeah, me’n’Carol have been together forever, but she’s trying to get Tonya, that crazy chick from Bowden High, to have a threesome with us,” Tommy brags. “Also, dude, Colin, you’ve _gotta_ put Carol and I on the same shift if we both get the job, otherwise we’ll have, like _no_ time together this summer, fuck.” 

“I’ll see what I can do there, big guy,” Colin brushes him off, looks over at Billy like _can you believe this fuckin’ guy?_ Billy shuts off the shower, wipes off his face with the fancy-ass beach towel he “borrowed” from Steve’s house last week, and grunts in pseudo-agreement with Colin. 

“Gotta get the fuckin job first, numb nuts,” he says as he walks out of the locker room, and he can hear Tommy bitching all the way out to the pool. Sure enough, Carol’s out there with the other manager, Misty, and some chick he’s never seen before. She’s hot, he guesses, with big wide-set blue-grey eyes and long, beach blonde hair up in a ponytail, visor tilted up. She’s got mile long legs and what he’s pretty sure Colin would call a _bangin’ bod,_ and if she gets the job too, the creepy dads are gonna be all over her.

“Okay, gang,” Misty says with a fucking _clap,_ like she’s a camp counselor or some shit. “Billy, Tommy, Carol, I know you three all know each other, but Candy here’s new in town, so be nice, okay?” 

“Get warmed up or whatever,” Colin says, clearly ready to get back to _bangin’ hotties_ or whatever it is that he does when he’s not at the goddamn pool, “And then we’ll do the lifeguard exam.” Tommy cannonballs in like a fucking _child,_ splashes everybody, and Carol forces a laugh before she jumps in after him. 

“Jesus,” he hears Candy hiss, and he huffs out a laugh. 

“Yeah, they’re the best and the brightest Hawkins has got to offer, welcome to your new home,” he jokes under his breath as he dives in smooth. Tommy’s trying to dunk Carol when Billy comes back up for air, flutter kicking to warm up his legs. 

“So you aren’t from around here?” she asks when she surfaces next to him, eyes flashing with amusement. “Or, at least, not originally. You don’t strike me as a local.”

“Nah, moved from Cali last summer. What about you?” he asks, trying to get a read on her. If she’s gonna be awful, he’d rather work with Carol, the tantrum that Tommy would throw be damned.

“Oh, I’m from Florida, outside Orlando,” she answers, wringing water out of her ponytail. “My ‘rents inherited a place here in town from some old uncle who died or something, I’m just watching the house for the summer before I head out for college in September.” 

“Ah,” Billy says, searching for something else to say. “That’s cool.”

“It is what it is,” she says, and then Colin blows his whistle _way_ louder than he needs to while they’re all less than eight feet away and Billy has to focus on saving a sandbag Colin throws into the deep end. 

When all is said and done, everyone passes the exam. Tommy can tread water for five minutes, but only just, and Billy makes a crack about his stamina that makes Carol and Candy both crack up. Carol almost fucks up the first step of CPR, but Tommy gets her attention behind Misty and Colin’s backs and mimes it for her. 

“Alright, fuckers,” Colin says once they’re all mostly dry, sitting in the tiny, freezing cold office that also serves as the front desk. “You’re all hired. Billy, Candy, you two’ll be working the morning shift, ten-thirty to three, Tommy and Carol, you’re working two-thirty to seven. The half-hour overlap is for our staff meeting thing, so we’ll talk any rules being broken, anybody who’s banned, shit like that. Here’s your keys, whistles, officially approved suits, and your t-shirts and sweatshirts. Don’t fuckin’ lose ‘em, it’s a pain in the _ass_ dealing with Hawkins Parks and Rec to get more. You all start Monday, don’t be late.”

“Wait, are these shorts the right size? They look short,” Tommy asks, holding up his swim trunks. 

“ _Yeah,_ bud, they _are,_ ” Colin sing-songs, all mocking. “Because part of the reason you all got hired is ‘cause you’re hot and all the adults like to have something nice to look at. Two years ago us dudes wore regular length shorts and the number of adult passes we sold _tanked,_ so if the cougars want some eye candy, we’re goddamn well gonna give it to ‘em. Sometimes they slip you an extra ten when they buy their daypass if you flirt good enough, you get to keep those for yourself. Girls, same goes for the dads and the horny teenagers. If anybody tries to touch you or somethin’ and you don’t want ‘em to, though, just blow your whistle and they usually quit. If they don’t, we ban ‘em for a while, usually they shape up after that.” 

While Billy’s washing the chlorine out of his hair in the shower, Colin hops into the shower across from him, strips down and lathers up. 

“A little advice from a pro: put a little bit of lemon juice in your shampoo and body wash, dude, it’ll help with the chlorine smell,” Colin says over the sound of the shower. 

“Thanks, dude,” Billy says half-heartedly, pouring some Ultraswim into his hand. Steve’s got a whole _thing_ about using swimmer’s shampoo, says it helps keep your hair soft and reduces damage or whatever. Steve’s already ordered him like _four_ extra bottles of the stuff, plus some fancy-ass hair oil to put on before he goes on shift; it makes his stomach burn with pleasure, knowing how much Steve likes his hair, how much Steve’s invested in keeping it just like it is. He’s growing it out again, not for anything special but because he’s too goddamn lazy to get it cut now and Steve likes having something to pull on, so. 

“That Candy chick’s fuckin’ _smokin’,_ holy _shit,_ I’m definitely gonna get in her swimsuit before the end of the summer,” Colin goes on, lathering himself with body wash. 

“Yeah, she’s pretty cute,” Billy agrees after a second; he’d almost forgotten that he has to play straight to work here, that he has to flirt with all the preteen girls and bored housewives and make vague enough statements about his sex life when Steve leaves a visible mark that Colin thinks he’s a _pussy monster_ or whatever.

* * *

It should be _illegal_ for Billy to wear shorts that small in public, Steve thinks later that night, when Billy’s showing off his Hawkins Pool gear in some kind of ridiculous fashion show by Steve’s pool, the Talking Heads bumping out of the boombox by the back door. There’s just so much _skin_ showing, miles and miles of smooth, sun-warm velvet stretched over firm muscle. 

Steve’s not going to be able to visit Billy at work if he’s gonna be showing that much fucking _thigh,_ he’s gonna _embarrass himself._ He feels like some depraved Victorian or something, salivating over the lines of Billy’s biceps and shit. Tommy and Carol are working there too, apparently, but, like, mostly not at the same time as Billy, so Steve’s not worried about it. They’ve both pretty much stopped fucking with him anyway, since he showed up at school in January totally inseparable from Billy. 

Steve’s already slipped a couple twenties in the duffle bag Billy uses for his pool stuff with a sticky note attached that says _for pool passes for all the kids,_ mostly so he has an excuse to watch Billy and say it's for the kids. He already knows Billy doesn’t wear his normal cologne in the summer, lets the coconut-fruit-and-sweat smell of his Hawaiian Tropic tanning oil speak for itself, and Steve’s probably (definitely) going to go insane with temptation before the summer’s over. 

“What’re you thinking about?” Billy asks from where he’s floating in the pool now, tiny little shorts clinging. 

“How _unfair_ it is that I’m gonna have to watch you wear those all summer without getting to rip them off the second you go on break,” Steve answers honestly, staring at Billy like a fucking creep from the edge of the pool where he’s got his feet dangling in the water. 

“Yeah, well, I gotta protect the merchandise,” Billy sighs, half-serious. “It’s a bitch to get more if they get fucked up, apparently.” He reaches down to adjust himself in his shorts, and it’s just _criminal_ how good he looks; the tease of not seeing everything is almost as good as getting him naked.

“Holy _shit,_ B,” Steve says, mouth suddenly dry. “I--you-- _oh my god._ ”

“I’m glad you like ‘em,” Billy smirks, glancing over at Steve long enough to wink lewdly. “You wanna come help me take ‘em off?”

Steve’s so eager to get his hands on Billy that he jumps into the pool fully clothed; it’s a bitch trying to get out of wet denim with a hard-on the size of Delaware, and his shirt’s linen, he’s pretty sure it’s not supposed to be in chlorine. Billy pulls him in for a kiss while David Byrne growls _hold me, squeeze me! love me, tease me! til I can’t take no more_ and Steve stops giving a shit about what the wash instructions on his button down say.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my sweet, sweet angels!! I accidentally stayed up until 4am writing this, which was a whole lot of strain on my brain but turned out to create a pretty good chapter (I think), so. 
> 
> **Fun Notes:**
> 
>   * The title of this chapter is from _And She Was_ , by the Talking Heads. The song at the end of the chapter is also by the Talking Heads, called _Take Me To The River_. It's such a good song the Talking Heads are just so good omfg.
>   * Just for the record, the emotional b-plot of this fic can _absolutely_ be characterized as _pining for dummies_. Let's hope everybody loves pining!!
>   * "Yinz" is an almost exclusively Pittsburghian slang term for the second person plural (akin to the southern "y'all"). Even though I absolutely fucked up and moved Kali to Chicago for plot purposes in _stand_ , she was in the Burgh long enough to pick up some regional slang.
>   * Nancy's new car (boat) is a [1971 model Ford Country Squire](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ford_Country_Squire). They did have [sideways jump seats](https://i.pinimg.com/originals/be/27/1c/be271cab36fe4c4c937013be99cdbee5.jpg) and could seat TEN(?!?!). I just love the idea of side- and back-facing jump seats, they just seem so absurd to me for some reason.
>   * So, like, you _can_ use lemon juice to get chlorine out of your hair, but I wouldn't recommend it. Just use a swimmer's shampoo, please!!
>   * An example of a sleep deprived annotation from this chapter's google doc: "ahhh, the mortifying ordeal of being known!!!!" Just so y'all know where I was at last night.
>   * I now have the beginnings of a curated list of the books Ten brought with her in a google doc; if anyone's actually interested, I'd be happy to share it!
>   * For those of you who enjoy(ed) the playlists in _stand_ , I do plan on including at least two playlists in this fic as well. hell yeah!!!
> 

> 
> **In the next installment: school's in session! Billy starts his new job! Loretta comes to town!**

**Author's Note:**

> Hi dearies! We made it, everybody's safe, it's all gonna be fine eventually I promise!! No more Neil for the foreseeable future. This was an unexpectedly emotional chapter to write (gotta love crying in the literal club lmao I wrote it while I was at the bar for work) but it's done! We did it! We can go forward from here! Big mfing thanks to all yall for your support and kindness, I appreciate the shit outta yall!!!!
> 
> **WARNING FOR CHILD ABUSE:** Neil hits Lucas once (in the face) and slaps and hits Max more than once. He also grabs her by her hair and is _very_ verbally abusive towards Max. If you want to read the rest of the chapter, stop reading at "March 1986" and start again at the next POV break, which begins "Steve insists on carrying around." There's some description of Max's injuries after this point, but it's not particularly graphic.
> 
> Okay, now that we've got that incredibly important warning out of the way, on the the fun notes!
> 
>  
> 
> **Fun Notes**
> 
>   * The title of this chapter comes from _Young Turks_ by Rod Stewart, which is a very fun song that doesn't really match the tone of this installment, so, uh, sorry? it's a bop tho.
>   * Herring under a fur coat is basically a grated beet, carrot, and egg potato salad with, uh, _so much_ mayo. [Here's](https://petersfoodadventures.com/2016/12/29/shuba-salad-herring-under-a-fur-coat/) a recipe with some more information. As a North American with no Russian heritage, it's...a lot to reckon with, emotionally, tbh, but it's beloved by many, many people, so who am I to judge?
> 

> 
> **In the next installment: A time jump! A road trip! A sexy, sexy job interview!**


End file.
